Leave My Body
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Sometimes, when things seem the darkest, when all hope seems lost, the Force intervenes. Such is the case with the death and "rebirth" of Padme Amidala.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Written for het-bigbang 2018. Title taken from the lovely Florence + The Machine's song of the same name. (This is also recommended listening for this fic.) The violence level in this fic never exceeds that which is seen in a Star Wars movie, and although the majority of the fic is in Padme's POV, I do have just a couple of POV changes much later on. This fic also includes necessary OCs, but not in major roles.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Wars or any associated characters. Only the OCs of my own invention. Star Wars belongs to Disney.

* * *

 **Part I**

 _Do not go gentle into that good night._

 _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

-Dylan Thomas

 **Chapter One**

Prophecies are tricky things. They can misread, misinterpreted. In a word, they can be misleading. The prophecy of the Chosen One was one such case. But the Force does not abandon. It does not deceive. When the balance is shifted dramatically, either to light or dark, the Force recognizes a need to intervene. And when it does intervene, it does so in any way it sees fit.

#

Padme awoke in a fit of coughing, as if she were choking. Before she even knew what her body was doing, it was clawing at her throat. It only took a few moments beyond that to realize that while she was breathing, she was not breathing entirely on her own. A few of the medical droids had already rushed to her side, and they shoved one of their varying needle appendages into crook of her right arm. She tried to protest, tried to scream and shout the millions of confusing questions that filled her mind. But the world was already starting to look a little hazy around the edges. She vaguely heard one of the droids order, in Basic, to prepare to take the breathing apparatus off as soon as she was under. She reached up, weakly, with her right hand, trying to get the teal and silver droid that stood over her, trying to catch its attention. It swiveled its head to stare, but by that time, the sedative had already set in, and Padme's world faded back to black.

#

She had no idea how long the drug had kept her under, but when Padme awoke again, the breathing tube was gone. She could hear the steady beeping of all the various monitors around her, and she was a little surprised to see that the droids were standing at the foot of her bed, waiting for her to wake up again.

"Can you hear me?" a teal and silver droid asked.

Her throat felt a little hoarse. Not raw, but rather just parched, like she had gone an eternity without water. Visions of red-hot lava and black, charred landscapes flashed briefly across her mind's eye. She forced the vision away, nodding her head in response to the droid's question.

"Can you respond verbally?" it asked.

"Y-yes," she responded… and her eyes widened.

Something was wrong, different. She closed her eyes and placed a hand to her forehead. Her voice had sounded… strange. It was possible that it was just the result of her oh-so-dry throat, but, even then, that didn't sound quite right.

"Are you feeling any pain, Miss Sarbarn?"

Padme's eyes flashed open as she brought her hands to rest in her lap. Her brow furrowed, she leaned forward just a bit.

"What… what did you call me?"

The three medical droids exchanged glances before the lead—the teal and silver—turned its attention back to her.

"I merely referred to you by your name. Can you tell me your name?"

"Of course," she sighed. "It's—"

Her lips froze, trying to form the first syllable of her name. She shook her head, trying to get rid of whatever had made her hesitate. She parted her lips once more, ready to proclaim her identity, but again, no words came out. She blinked rapidly, trying to force the words out. Again, nothing. The droids were beginning to look concerned—or as concerned as droids could manage to look. She began making little noises, verbal interrupters like "um" and "oh" just to make sure she could still produce sound. Those came out just fine. In her mind, her brain screamed at her to just _say her name_. It was easy. After all, she had been herself for her entire life. She was Padme Amidala Naberrie, senator and native of Naboo. She had a father, a mother, and a sister. She had friends. But none of their names could come out either. It was like some invisible something was keeping these things all locked up inside her mind. Finally, the teal droid rolled over to the side of her bed.

"Don't you remember?" it asked.

"I-I can't… I d-don't…"

"Miss Sarbarn, you've been in a coma for some time now. It is entirely possible that a slight case of amnesia has formed as a result of your injuries."

"Why are you calling me that?" Padme demanded. "What's going on? Where am I?"

"Calm down. We shall have to approach this slowly," the droid stated.

Padme rested her face in her hand. A moment passed, and then, it hit her. Something more was off, more than just her inability to tell these medidroids who she was. She pulled her hand back, staring at it as if she had never seen it before. Which was quite fitting, as she actually _had never_ seen _this_ hand before. She turned her attention to the droid at her side.

"A mirror. Can I… can I see a mirror? Please?" she asked.

The lead droid nodded and one of the others at the foot of her bed scurried off to fulfill the order. A knot was forming in Padme's stomach. She had a bad feeling about this, about all of it, but the problem was, she didn't even know what "it" was quite yet. Her brain was swimming, still trying to pull out facts she knew about herself. It was hazy, but some things were coming back to her. She remembered Anakin stopping by her apartment— _their_ apartment, secretly—to tell her of the Jedi. She remembered… she struggled, trying to complete that thought. Something made her feel ill, like a terrible thing had happened, and she just didn't remember what it was yet.

The droid returned with the mirror, passing it to her. She held it up to her face and fought hard to maintain a steady expression. She was Padme Amidala. She knew that with no doubt. And she knew what _her_ face looked like. But this… this woman staring back at her? She didn't have Padme's dark tresses. Instead, she possessed bright, mussed red hair. There was a slight—almost unnoticeable—smattering of freckles across her pale cheeks. Her eyes were a deep green, like a dense forest as seen from the sky. She was Padme Amidala… but this was not her body.

#

The next couple of weeks seemed like an eternity, especially with the information that Padme had gathered. It seemed that the medidroids truly believed that she suffered from amnesia, as a result of some transport accident she had been involved with. Her name—or rather, this body's name—was Triana Sarbarn, and she had family. Padme was anxious to be released from the medical facility—on Coruscant, she was happy to discover—but the physicians and droids here were unwilling to do so until they believed she had recovered some—if not all—of her memory. Being that she wasn't actually Triana, that was proving to be difficult.

They—the human doctors that ran the facility—had cleared her to move from the wing she had inhabited—filled mostly with still comatose patients—to a private room. Her vitals were stable, so she was free from machines, but, at least for the first few days, she was closely monitored. Doctors and medidroids came by quite frequently those first days, asking her all sorts of questions about her life—or rather, Triana's life. Frustratingly, she had tried the first day to simply tell them that something was wrong on a cosmic level. That she was _not_ this Triana Sarbarn, but rather Padme Amidala. But every time, her great declarations would force her mouth and tongue to freeze, despite her raging brain. She couldn't explain it, and the doctors were explaining it away as part of her amnesia. They stopped coming by so frequently once they realized that she would do herself no harm. But her release, on the other hand? That was not coming until they could progress her memory to a satisfactory point, according to one female doctor who had visited with her.

But now no longer on such close watch, Padme was free to roam about the hospital. On her very first day of freedom—day five of being awake in this body—she spent at least three hours in the fresher, just staring into a mirror. Doctors came to check on her after about ten minutes, but she waved them away, saying that she was just… reacquainting herself with… well, herself.

This new body was roughly the age she was when she… died. She had died, hadn't she? And how had that happened? Everything was still blurry for her. Memories of herself, her real self, kept coming to her, but only in flashes and patches. But, this new body—and that in itself was an odd thought—had to be in her mid- to late-twenties, as Padme had been herself. Again, there was the striking difference in appearance—the red hair, thick and wavy once brushed—the pale, pale skin and the smattering of freckles. Not to mention the green eyes. Padme had once thought she wanted green eyes, when she was a child. Now that she had them, in the way that she had them, it was deeply unsettling. It took thirty minutes for Padme to realize that listing all the differences between her old body and her new one was going to drive her madder than they already thought she was. So, she decided to switch gears.

Yes, the body had to be about the same age. It—or maybe it would help if Padme thought "she"—was at least Padme's height. And, most importantly of all, it didn't _feel_ like the wrong body. She felt as confident in her strides and hand-eye coordination as she would have in her old self. And she was definitely steadier now that she was in a body that wasn't being flooding with the extra hormones of pregnancy.

Blinking, Padme moved her hands—maybe just a touch larger than her old ones—to her body's flat, toned stomach. This Triana she had woken in had at least taken care of herself, as the doctors had mentioned in passing that, other than the accident and the amnesia, she was the picture of health. Her odd green eyes were now locked on her reflection, hands still firmly pressed to her very not pregnant stomach. Another memory flashed before her, and she was sitting in the pilot's seat of her sleek, silver ship, tears streaming from her eyes as she tried to clear them before meeting with Anakin.

"My stomach was in knots," she whispered to herself, surprised that the words left her mouth. "I was so worried that what O—"

Again, her lips froze. _Obi-wan_ , her brain said. Her mouth remained immobile. Tears were filling her eyes, and frustration was quickly overtaking her. She had to get out of this damned hospital! Where _was_ Obi-wan? And Anakin? And her child? Where was her child? She leaned forward on the gleaming metal sink, sobbing into the basin. A medidroid kindly escorted her back to her room. She didn't fight. Instead, she let herself be put straight to bed.

It was day six, and she had a new purpose—get out of this place and get the answers she needed. A doctor visited her after her morning meal, and what had now become the routine began. The doctor posed questions, questions that would directly relate to Triana Sarbarn, _not_ Padme. Past finally getting the name correct, she knew nothing else. With a sad _tsk_ ing noise, the doctor had reiterated to her that she was free to roam the facility, but not to go outside it—for her own safety.

Like Padme didn't know Coruscant, after living here for years? But the doctor didn't know that, so Padme only nodded, thanking her. The moment she was gone, Padme threw off the covers of her bed, put on a thin, blue dressing gown, and left for the common room located at the very edge of this wing. On the short walk there, she took a moment to organize her thoughts—a to-do list that would end with the goal of her freedom from this hospital. She had to get to records of Triana… that would give her enough to convince the doctor—an older, gray haired human that Padme had yet to truly commit the name of to memory—that she knew herself as Triana. And she had to get to the HoloNet. She had to reorient herself in this new world. The doctors and medidroids had been careful around her, as to not overwhelm what they saw as her fragile brain, but she had caught a few disturbing words. Words like "empire" and "emperor" and "tyranny." So, to achieve the goal she saw as the easiest, she made her way to the common room.

The room—open to all free roaming patients—was drably decorated, with beige sofas and chairs, no tables, a few decorative ferns, and—as she had hoped—a large HoloScreen playing the HoloNet News. She found an empty seat on the edge of a sofa near the back of the room, and tightened her dressing gown about herself, as if that would give her some security. Twenty minutes of the news, and she wasn't sure if she was angry, sad, or sick.

Four months. She had been gone for four whole months, and the whole galaxy had changed in that time. Palpatine—who was never pictured, despite how incredibly often he was mentioned—had taken over as Emperor. The senate still stood, but through the subtext of the many reports alone Padme could glean that everyone knew that that would not be for long. In fact, they seemed to merely be there for an ease of transition, as Palpatine had issued many laws—mostly restrictions on freedom of information, as well as on taxation—without Senate approval. The reporters were also talking of a black figure known only as Darth Vader, who seemed to be serving as the Emperor's right hand and whose primary task seemed to be hunting down Jedi who had escaped something called Order 66.

Something tugged at Padme's mind, filling her with both a feeling of familiarity and of dread. But she couldn't figure out what exactly any of that meant. She glanced away from the screen, looking to a station across the hall from the common room that the doctors and medidroids convened at on this floor, exchanging information and orders on patients. She caught sight of her own gray-haired doctor. Padme pursed her lips, watching as the doctor indicated a filing cabinet on the leftmost wall of the little station. A droid pulled open, producing a small screen and handing it to her as she walked off.

Patient records. It had to be. All Padme had to do was get the records on Triana, and then she would be free. This was not going to be easy, but very few things in her life had been. From behind her, a brief mention of Naboo caught her ears. She turned, alarmed to see the newscaster speaking of the results of the emergency election for the new Naboo Senator, following the tragic death of Padme Amidala.

She blinked, a knot forming in her stomach and in her throat. Everything was such a blur to her, and strangely enough, that was where most of the terror of this situation was coming from for her. Why had she died? How had she come back? And why? Did it have to do with this new Empire, or the Loyalist committee she had worked on with Mon Mothma and Bail Organa? Or both? There had to be a reason.

And why, oh, why, had there been no mention anywhere of Anakin Skywalker? He had been the hero of the Clone Wars, for Force sake! Her hands dug into the cushions of the sofa. She had to get out of here.

Turning, she watched as more doctors came and went, and it became painfully clear that the early morning was not the time to attempt the theft of hospital records. She stood up and made her way back to her room. It was going to be a late night, and tomorrow, she would be on the road to freedom.

#

The good and bad thing about droids was simple: they didn't sleep. But Padme was nothing if not cunning. In the deep darkness of early morning, Padme had slipped out of her room and stole into another. This patient, she had noticed, was not in horrible condition, but was still bad enough to be hooked up to monitors for oxygen and blood pressure still. This man—deep in sleep and a species of alien that escaped her—had his back to the approaching woman. She muttered a quick plea for forgiveness and pressed a series of random buttons on the monitor. As she had hoped, a loud, alarming beeping sounded, and she hid herself behind the room's door.

Moments later, several medidroids and a pair of doctors rushed into the room, and she slipped out behind them without notice. She half ran, half walked down the hall to the station, to find that still one droid remained. She stopped, blinking and thinking quick. It wouldn't take long for those professionals to figure out that it was a false alarm. Steeling herself, she made her way up to the droid and put on her best distressed face.

"Please! Please, you must help me!" she cried, and the droid turned, fixing her with a cold, emotionless stare.

"Please calm yourself. I will alert a doctor in a moment," the droid responded, already reaching for a communicator.

"No!" Padme all but shouted. "I need _my_ doctor! Please! You have to go get her!"

"Please hold out your identification band," the droid responded.

Padme did as instructed, managing to work up a few tears to add to her act of hysterics.

"Miss Sarbarn, Doctor Mells has gone home for the evening. You will have to see the on-call doctor, who is busy at the moment. Perhaps I can help with your emergency?"

"No!" she insisted. Time was running out, she was sure. "No, no, no! You have to go get her! _Go get her_!"

She slammed her hand, open-palmed so that it produced a satisfying _smack_ down on the countertop of the station, which rose almost to mid-chest on her.

"Now!" she sobbed. "Please, now!"

The droid, clearly flustered, made its way out around the station. "Please remain here. I will retrieve a doctor for you."

She waited until she was sure that droid was focused on its new task. Then, with a small smile, she made her way around the station and pulled open the records drawer. Droids… one could always rely on droids… Anakin had said that to her once. It took her only a moment to locate the "S" section on the HoloPads, and a moment later to find the one that contained the information Triana Sarbarn. Quickly, she yanked it from its spot and hid it in the waistband of her hospital clothes. She then rounded the station and stood there, blinking around as if she was lost.

The droid returned with the doctor, and Padme could see that others were following, muttering "false alarm" and "stupid machines" behind this new doctor. He stopped just inches from Padme.

"Miss Sarbarn, what's the matter? The droid said you were in clear distress and demanding your doctor," he stated.

She blinked at him. "What? How did I get here?"

He pulled a light from his pocket, shining it in her eyes. Furrowing his brow, he stared at her.

"You don't remember asking the droid to retrieve your doctor?" he asked slowly.

"What? No. I remember climbing into bed to sleep… and then I woke up here. Maybe… maybe I slept walk?"

The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Well, you appear fine. Why don't I escort you back to bed?"

She nodded and followed with no trouble until he finally deposited her safely back in her room. As soon as the door closed, she pulled free the HoloPad, and began to read. Tomorrow morning, once she had memorized all she needed, she would drop the thing in some inconspicuous place. She had a knack for memorizing information, thanks to her political life, so one night with it would be all she needed.

#

She deliberately flubbed her usual morning visit, in order to dispose of the HoloPad. Then, in the early afternoon, she made a show of mentioning Triana's sister's name in front of a doctor. Doctor Mells had been retrieved, and she had set Padme down and re-asked her questions. Padme gave her answers, slowly, as if it was all coming back to her. And she deliberately "forgot" some things. After all, she didn't want to be a miracle case. She just wanted out. Once the interview session had ended, the doctor smiled, standing. Padme stood with her.

"Let's keep you one more night, just in case. But, if you can answer these questions again in the morning, I think we'll be free to release you into the care of your sister," Mells smiled.

"Briari," Padme said, smiling back.

"That's right. And that's good. That's very good."

The doctor left, and Padme sighed. Now, finally, she could figure some of her real problems out, starting with the greatest existential question of all: Why was she here?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was the early afternoon when Padme set foot inside of Briari Sarbarn's apartment. It was large, much like the Senatorial apartment Padme had occupied not too long ago. Months, though. It had been months. She needed to keep that in mind. That was actually a lot of time.

The apartment dressings were done in deep navy blues and rich mauves, and consisted of a large seating area in front of a balcony. A small kitchenette was set off in the right-hand corner farthest from the entrance, and a hallway disappearing—undoubtedly—to a fresher and two bedrooms broke away from the large rooms to the left of the kitchenette. Padme, dressed in a simple goldenrod-yellow gown, with her new red hair bound back in a simple plait, stepped uncertainly into the sitting room.

She glanced out the window, seeing the corner of the complex of Senatorial apartment building that Padme had in fact lived was a quick speeder's ride away. She thought she could see a large white bow on the balcony on the side that was just beginning to turn away from this complex, but she shook her head. There was no way they were still keeping her apartment decorated in mourning four months after her death.

Behind her, Briari—a woman with layered, short blonde hair, the same green eyes and pale skin, who was easily no older than twenty—dragged a set of bags in the door behind her. Padme's brow furrowed as she turned, making her way back over to her.

"I'm sorry. Let me help," she said.

The voice… the voice was going to be the hardest to get used to. Triana's voice was a touch huskier than Padme's had been. It gave her a pause anytime she didn't have to put any real thought into what she was saying. Briari popped up, whirling and waving Padme away from the bags.

"No, no! I can manage! You've just woken up, and you're still… recuperating. I can manage a couple of bags," the girl said.

Her voice, by comparison, was a bit high-pitched, but not in an annoying way. It put Padme in the mind of a frightened mouse, and that Briari was forever one terrified squeak away from bolting to safety. The thought made Padme feel even worse about her current situation. Of course, she knew that there was really nothing she could do that would truly assuage this guilt—and that, perhaps, she ought not to even feel this guilt at all. But as it stood, she did. She was in this strange woman's body, unable to alert anyone to her true identity—truly, physically unable for reasons still yet to be known to her—and now having to pretend to be Triana so that Briari didn't become worried or suspicious and have her recommitted to the hospital. This poor girl knew nothing of Padme's old life, or the purpose of her new one. In the end, she was an innocent bystander, honestly believing that the Force had granted her a miracle and returned her sister to her. But, of one thing Padme was certain: she was alone in this body. Although she did not know when, she did know that the original Triana Sarbarn had passed on from this world.

Padme shook the thoughts from her mind, making her way over to a photo projector located on the counter that separated the kitchen from the main sitting room. Two people, a man and a woman both with hair as blond as Briari's, smiled up at her from the picture. It didn't take Padme long to realize she was looking at a photo of Briari's and Triana's parents—which, based on the patient reports she had read on Triana, she knew them to be deceased.

"Do… do you remember them?" Briari asked, standing a bit behind Padme.

She turned, eyeing the woman whose face was lit with so much hope. She frowned at Briari, a little sadly.

"Bits and pieces. Our parents, right?" she asked.

Briari nodded. "Yes. Suni and Taran Sarbarn. They passed away just before your accident, do you remember that?"

Padme took a moment, pulling up the dates she had taken care to memorize. Triana had been in a coma since the last year or so of the Clone Wars. After another moment, she realized that no date had been given in Triana's records of her parents' deaths. She shook her head.

"No. I'm sorry. I mean, I remembered they were… gone. But I… I didn't remember when."

Briari nodded, and it was clear that there was tears in her eyes as she turned and made her way to the sofa. A quick glance about showed Padme that Briari had already put away her bags. Sitting down with a sigh, Briari patted the cushion next to herself.

"Will you sit with me?" she asked.

Padme nodded, moving and taking the seat with no hesitation. That seemed to make her supposed sister happy. Briari turned to better face Padme, placing her clasped hands in her lap.

"The doctors told me not to rush or push you, but to gently nudge you in the direction of your memory… so I thought I'd let you take the lead. Is there… is there anything you want to ask?"

There were a million questions Padme wanted to ask, but none of them pertained to a single iota to what Briari was talking about. Instead, Padme nodded, knowing that this would be the greatest opportunity to get a sense of the life she had been thrust in to, and the best way to avoid suspicions.

"Um… I know that I had a, um, head trauma from an accident… but I don't remember what exactly happened. Could you… could you tell me?" Padme asked.

She was sure that she was torturing this poor girl. But now was not the time to be overly considerate. Besides, Briari had asked. Padme _needed_ to know these things. But Briari only nodded.

"It was the stupidest thing, really. You were on your way back from your, ahem, work. You had gotten on the public transport, and it was hit somewhere along the route home by a careless speeder. The driver of the speeder was killed, and there were several injuries and a few deaths from the transport you were on. However, I think you were the only case resulting in a comatose state."

She said this with such conciseness, such matter-of-factness that Padme couldn't help but admire the girl. She was willing to re-live what was almost certainly one of her most painful memories, all for the sake of having her sister back. That was definitely a trait to be admired.

Padme nodded to acknowledge Briari's words. "You, um, mentioned employment? What did I do?"

At this, Briari laughed, startling Padme. She sighed, becoming immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry. Sorry! It's just… You were always rather… um, free spirited when it came to the idea of a career. So the last job you had, before the accident was… um… you waitressed at a cantina."

It took everything in Padme's power not to turn up her nose at that. Not that there was anything wrong with being a cantina waitress, somebody had to do it, it was just never, ever something she pictured herself doing.

"Perhaps it would be best if I… didn't return to that line of work," Padme said, pursing her lips.

"Of course not! If anything is going to give you nightmarish flashbacks, I'd almost bet it would be that! When you're a bit more settled, I might have some work lined up for you. I mean, it's not what you would've normally done in the past, but I've been careful to keep it open for you, in case… well, when you woke up."

Padme arched a brow. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's um, close to where I work, but in a different department. The official title is Sector Liaison. You would basically be working for the Emperor, hunting down those who start gossipy rumors and such."

A PR Rep, Padme thought. She almost laughed. In a way, this would be perfect. What better way to catch up on the last four months than to hunt down the rumors and figure out for herself whether they were true or not? And she would undoubtedly cross paths eventually with—

"Emperor Palpatine," she muttered aloud.

The words still sounded foreign to her, and Briari looked flabbergasted.

"How did you know?" she asked.

Padme shrugged. "They did have HoloNet in the common room."

"Oh," Briari giggled. "That makes sense."

"I think that type of job would be good for me… help jog my memory," Padme said.

Briari nodded. "Then it's settled. Once you're a bit more on your feet, I'll set you up to meet with my boss. It'll be as good as yours."

#

Three weeks had passed before Padme had done enough to convince Briari she was stable enough to commit to a full-time job. She had done everything she could think of to prove this—operating technology, going shopping for food, cooking, cleaning, talking with her frequently. But it took a full three weeks for Briari to finally cave and send Padme, by herself, to meet the head of the Sector Liaison department, Kinlie Starbiten.

Padme had entered the offices that surrounded Palpatine's so-called Throne Room, more prepared for this than she had been for anything. She had spent every free moment in the past three weeks—mostly while Briari had been gone on her own job—to study up on Palpatine and every bit of news surrounding him since the start of the Galactic Empire. The rumors varied from believable to downright crazy, and Padme had them all memorized. She _wanted_ this job. More than that, she _needed_ it. She felt almost compelled, like this was the first step to finding out exactly why she had returned from her own demise. There was no logic behind this, save that the last clear connection to her previous life that she could find remained solely with the man who now called himself Emperor.

Kinlie had seemed impressed with Padme's knowledge of current events in a way that gave Padme the impression that Briari had mentioned her sister's previous condition to the woman. Kinlie had not been expecting much, Padme also surmised, but seemed more than adequately impressed with Padme. After a short interview, Padme had left with the job secured.

#

Kinlie was no nonsense, and very involved in her job—which was basically to manage the entire Sector Liaison department. She dressed always in khaki, despite the fact that the liaisons were encouraged to dress differently from other Imperial employees (officers and the like). It made it easier to run down rumors when such work was necessary if they didn't look like they were agents of the Empire. Then again, Kinlie—with her cut short, overly curly tawny hair—never did the running. The only running it seemed to Padme that her boss ever did was back and forth from the Emperor himself—as Kinlie seemed to be one of the very few who seemed to be allowed inside the Emperor's actual Throne Room. Whenever she exited the room, it was always done while barking orders at either an individual, a certain group, or all of them.

But Padme was nothing if not determined. The first week or so she worked with the department, she did her best to keep her head down and follow her orders to the T. They were deplorable, in some cases, as she loved democracy and the freedom of speech that the Republic had allowed and even enforced. And it seemed to her that if anyone said anything remotely negative against the Empire, especially Palpatine himself, they were to be silenced by any means necessary. That first week, Padme's job had been to track down credible leads for smallish rumors—like where the Emperor had last been seen in a public outing, who he had been with, and any further speculation not mandated by Palpatine himself. Padme didn't remember what it felt like to die, but she was pretty sure a part of her soul was doing so, just by doing this job.

Two weeks in, and Kinlie was leveling a mix of praise and pressure on Padme, giving her ever increasingly difficult rumors to hunt down. She had also given Padme more access to various surveillance located all over the planet—as far as Padme could tell—to aid in her searches. It made her cringe, to know that this new government was so closely watching—and doing Force knew what else—to its citizens. But everyone was a pawn in Palpatine's plan… Padme was seeing that clearly now, perhaps for the first time ever.

How had she never seen it before? That was another thought making her ill.

It was week three before Kinlie came frantically running into the offices, this time from the outside door, not the Throne Room.

"Look alive!" she cried into the room. "And make a path!"

Everyone flew to their feet as if that was what was expected, and Padme followed suit, careful to blend in. All eyes seemed to be locked on the outside door with an anticipation so thick in the air that Padme seemed almost to choke with it. Kinlie had moved to stand just behind Padme's shoulder, and she glanced back at her boss, seeing the woman primp her hair for just a moment.

"What's happening?" Padme whispered.

However, before Kinlie could answer, the doors opened, and Padme watched as every single one of her co-workers, including Kinlie, went down on one knee, heads bowed. Stunned, Padme turned.

Standing in the doorway was none other than the disfigured face of Palpatine himself… and his yellowed eyes were locked solely on her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Padme was frozen—not a position she found herself in frequently. She had always been take-charge, if not a bit ambitious, but in the best way. Fear was with her, but it was like an unavoidable by-product of her life's—or rather, her previous life's—goal. She had long learned to ignore it.

But now, staring straight into the eyes of the Sith Lord that had orchestrated the downfall of not only the Jedi at large, but her husband as well, she felt that fear threatened to stop her very heart. She knew what those sensitive to the Force were capable of, of their sixth sense.

Did Palpatine know? Did he know who she _really_ was?

He took a half step toward her, and it was everything she could do not to take a half step back. But she stood her ground, feeling the weight of not only Palpatine's eyes on her, but those of her co-workers and her boss.

"Let go of your fear, child. I mean no harm. I know the state that those traitorous Jedi left me in, but there is no need to fear me."

But Padme could feel her tiny, insignificant fear seedling threatening to grow into something monstrous. He had _sensed_ her fear. He had felt it, like any other Jedi Padme had encountered—like Anakin could.

She closed her mind, tossing the thoughts of her still unaccounted-for husband as far away as she could. Palpatine smiled, and Padme fought down a grimace.

"What is your name?" he asked.

There was a wave of shock and relief washing over her. He _didn't_ know her. Padme moved her lips, willing them to work.

"Triana… sire," she said, the latter word sticking in her throat only slightly less than her own, true name.

"She's the newest employee I spoke of, sire," Kinlie said, jumping in to save Padme's crashing starship.

Normally, Padme disliked anyone speaking for her, but just this once, she would be grateful, because she was not ready to know where her conversation with Palpatine would have headed. The Emperor, meanwhile, nodded at Kinlie's words.

"Ah, yes. This is the one with the talent for tracking down the sources of those unsavory rumors about myself and my operations. Yes, we shall have to keep a close eye on her," he said, and Padme could feel her skin crawling under his gaze.

With that, he moved around them, trailed soundlessly by his red guards, until they all disappeared behind the closed doors of his Throne Room. Padme let out a small sigh, and Kinlie let out a bigger one. She turned to eye Padme, shaking her head.

"You couldn't have just bowed? If you want to advance—which your work suggests that you do—you're going to have to be a bit more careful than that," she chastised. Then, moving a bit closer and dropping her voice, she added, "You have no idea what could have happened to you!"

Padme blinked at her. She was sure she looked quite surprised, but in the next moment, Kinlie had straightened and was already gently pushing her back to her cubicle.

"Back to work, Triana. Always back to work," Kinlie said before bustling off to speak with some of the others.

Padme blinked down at her little corner of the HoloNet. It took a moment before she could force her hands up to pick of the threads of her last search. She clenched her fingers into fists for just a moment before she made them work again.

Why in this whole galaxy did it feel like she had just narrowly escaped a second death?

#

While it was odd living with a stranger who, in turn, thought you were a loved relative, it was still a relief to return back to the apartment that she shared with Briari. She found the younger girl already home, sitting on the sofa, watching something on her handheld HoloScreen. She smiled at Triana as she entered, standing to follow her over to the kitchen.

"How was your day today?" she asked.

That question was always tentative, and a little loaded. Padme knew that she was fishing for things that she simply couldn't give this poor woman. The real Triana was long gone, Padme supposed, but there was no way, at present, to convey that to Briari—what with the restrictions the Force or whatever had brought her back had upon her. Instead, she flashed a small smile at the blonde.

"I met the Emperor today," she said.

Instantly, Briari's eyes seemed to double in size, her mouth shaping into a perfect O. Padme could actually see the girl's tongue working, trying to form words. Finally, she shut her mouth, leaning over the counter that separated the two.

"I've heard that he's horribly disfigured. Is it as terrible as it looks on the HoloNet?" she whispered.

Padme leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Why are we whispering?" she answered just the same.

Briari looked about the house—truly _looked_ about—before turning back to her supposed sister. She raised her voice, but only a bit.

"Questions about the Emperor are prohibited publicly. Anything that might make him appear… negatively is not allowed," she said.

Padme's brow remained the same, but she raised her voice to normal speaking volumes. "But… we're not _in_ public. We're in our home."

Briari backed a smidge away from the counter, becoming suddenly interested in her fingernails.

"It's a different world now than what it was before your accident, Tria," Briari murmured.

Padme leaned a bit farther forward, looking under Briari's locks into the girl's eyes—which she had averted away. There she saw an emotion she was becoming more and more familiar with—and what was becoming more and more familiar in this new world—fear. White hot rage bubbled up from Padme's gut, threatening to spill out her mouth to fill the apartment, the planet, the _galaxy_ with her indignation. The Republic had done nothing but fight for people's right to live freely, happily, and peacefully. Fear was never supposed to be in that credence. But now, twice—and once inside a so-called _private_ residence—Padme had experienced fear. This was not the way it was supposed to be. This was not the world she had died in.

This was not the world that Padme would want die for. She pulled back from Briari, turning toward the hall that contained both their rooms.

"I'm rather tired," she said. "If it's okay—"

But Briari was already nodding. "I understand. Go, rest. Doctor's orders, after all."

Padme offered her a small smile before turning and disappearing down the hall. Once in her room, she quickly found a simple nightshift and made her way over to the attached Fresher. She showered and completely undid herself from her day. It was still strange to her to shower in this body that was not hers. It felt like the biggest invasion of privacy. But it couldn't be avoided, and, honestly, Padme had bigger thoughts and problems.

She had more questions than answers about her current state of being. Palpatine couldn't sense her as Padme Amidala… was that apart of her other invisible chains, like being unable to declare her true name? And Anakin… always Anakin. Was he gone? Why had not a single person mentioned the Hero of the Clone Wars?

What was all of this for?

She dried herself off as soon as she exited the shower, putting on the nightshift. She found a dryer by a sink, and her hair was as if it had never been wet in just mere seconds. She ran a brush through it, gave herself one last look in the mirror, frowning at the stranger looking back at her, before she re-entered her bedroom.

She gave a start. Out, standing on her balcony, glowing in a blue, unearthly light, was a man Padme had not seen in several years. He turned, his long hair falling over his shoulders, staring pensively at her and looking not a single bit different than he had the day he had died.

Staring at her was the ghostly figure of none other than Qui-Gon Jinn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Her first instinct was to doubt herself, her own eyes. She blinked—one, twice, three times, losing count when they began to grow more rapid. This man—who was not vanishing no matter how long she blinked—was unmistakably dead. She had attended his funeral, for Force sake! Then again, she was supposed to be dead too.

Her thoughts were a swirling mess. She fought to bring something logical to the forefront, but instead a primal instinct took over. A dead man was standing on her balcony; she screamed.

The instant the noise was out of her mouth, he vanished, and she regretted her reaction. The next moment had Briari busting into her room, rushing right over to her.

"Triana! What's wrong? Are you okay?" she asked all in one breath.

Padme realized that she was still staring at the now empty balcony, wide-eyed and suddenly unblinking. It was only when Briari gently gripped her shoulders did she realize that she had been spoken to—forgetting her "new" name in her shock. She forced herself to blink and to look at Briari, who was still asking her what was wrong.

"Nothing," Padme managed.

Briari stared hard at her, unbelieving. Padme smiled, a little apologetically. "Really. I'm sorry. I thought… I thought I saw—something. It must have just been a mistake—a passing speeder's light."

Briari released her, crossing her arms. She didn't look any less concerned, however.

"Maybe I spooked you, with what I said in the kitchen. Or maybe you forced yourself to work too soon after being released, after waking up," she mused, eyeing Padme sadly.

Padme shook her head. "No, no, really. It's not any of that. It was my mistake, really." She held out a steady hand, adding, "See? I'm fine."

The blonde woman pursed her lips. "Well, maybe I should still contact the doctors…"

"Briari, please. I swear it. I'm fine," Padme said.

The last thing she needed right now was another interview with a doctor. The problems Padme had kept multiplying, and as much as she hated it, she couldn't add to it the imaginary problem of "Triana's Memory."

It took a few more moments of convincing, but Briari finally left the room—agreeing to both let her sister rest and not to call the doctor. Once she was out of the room, Padme sank to the bed, eyeing the balcony—still conveniently devoid of ghosts. She placed a hand to her forehead, sighing. Maybe she really did need sleep.

#

It was hot and dry, and she felt no ease. Visions of lava-covered and charred landscapes kept flashing before her eyes. As did visions of her husband, as she last remembered seeing him.

His blond hair was as curly as ever, covered in sweat—he had been on this planet longer than she had. There was angry desperation in his eyes, and it took Padme a moment to remember that he was pleading with her… pleading for her to understand why.

This was a dream, Padme was realizing, as she heard a whispered voice that she was readily sure she had not heard when she had _actually_ been on Mustafar—back in her old body, in her old life.

 _Vader_ … the voice whispered. It was indistinct at first, and Padme wasn't even sure she was hearing this mysterious speaker correctly. Another image of her husband flashed before her eyes as the voice spoke again.

 _Vader_ …

Confusion washed over her as Anakin stared at her out from underneath his curls. The voice sounded a bit more familiar, but now the scene changed to something Padme knew she could have never seen. Obi-Wan and Anakin, locked in battle. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell them to stop. They were friends, brothers. This was wrong! This was all Palpatine's fault, his machinations and manipulations. The voice spoke again, just as Anakin's face turned toward where she would have been standing to witness this atrocity. This time, she was sure she knew it, the long-lost voice of Qui-Gon Jinn.

 _Vader_ …

#

Padme woke slowly the next morning, despite her turbulent and unsettling dreams. She dressed, shared a quick breakfast with Briari—whom she was still reassuring that she was fine, that it was just an odd shadow cast off by a passing speeder she had seen—and left for the Emperor's offices.

She was grateful for the time alone with her thoughts. She needed this time, to cycle through her questions, searching and picking at anything that could resemble a clue to her resurrection. Her "vision" the previous night, and now dreaming of Qui-Gon's voice repeating the same word over and over—Vader—was troubling, to put it mildly. She needed less mystery, not more. She needed to find out what had happened after her death on a smaller scale, truth be told. The Jedi were gone. What did that mean for her husband? Palpatine was now Emperor. Perhaps Anakin had come to senses and run from that monster rather than be controlled any longer. But, no… that didn't quite sound like something her Ani would have done.

Her head was down, watching her feet—but not really—when she ran bodily in someone she had failed to pay attention too. She gasped, looking up and ready to apologize. However, once she took in the auburn hair and stern-but-fair expression staring back at her, all she could gasp out was, "Mon Mothma?"

She was dressed in her usual white, with silver cords drapped from one shoulder to another, her hanna pendant clearly visible just below the neck of her robes. She narrowed her familiar blue-green eyes at Padme, smiling softly.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, dear. I have no idea who you are," she said, not without a hint of amusement.

Padme was hurt, for just a millisecond, before she realized that the face she wore now was not her own. She quickly flashed a smile, holding out a hand.

"I'm, um, Triana Sarbarn. I'm… well, I guess I should say that I a fan of your political views," she said.

Mothma took her hand, shaking it lightly. With a small chuckle, she released her hold, and said, "Yes, well, perhaps you shouldn't say that so loudly. But I appreciate it nonetheless. One can always use friend in these… _new_ times."

Padme could read from her that she meant a few different words instead of "new," and none of them were synonyms with it. She nodded. "So I've been told."

"May I ask where you are headed in such a rush?"

Padme leaned slightly around Mon Mothma, indicating the Emperor's offices behind her. The senator uttered a tiny, "Ah."

"I'm a Sector Liaison there. I, um, follow the trails of baseless rumors concerning the Emperor, his workings, and all of those closest to him."

"And some not so baseless," Mothma muttered. After a moment, she added, speaking normally, "Well, as I said before, I'm glad to have met you. It's not often any more that I find people who agree with me, especially so openly. I hope to see you again."

"As do I," Padme asked.

With a smile and nod, Mothma made her way around Padme and continued on her way. Despite the rock in her stomach, Padme finished her walk to her work with a lighter step. At least one friend of hers was still around and seeming fairly safe. But Mothma had always known how to take care of herself. Still, it was nice to know.

That extra pep vanished the moment she entered the offices outside the Throne Room. She was met by Kinlie almost immediately, who huddled closely with her, dragging her over to her cubicle. Since Padme was sure that Kinlie knew her to be capable enough—despite her so-called amnesia—to find her own way, she knew something else was going on.

"What is it?" Padme asked quietly.

Kinlie indicated the closed doors of the Throne Room with the smallest toss of her head.

"Emperor Palpatine is meeting with his right-hand man," Kinlie whispered.

Padme's brow furrowed. She thought back, trying to remember seeing Palpatine with anyone that could be considered his right-hand. He had always been followed by guards, attendants, and advisors, but none of them she could consider close enough to the closet Sith Lord. She finally glanced up at Kinlie, asking, "And who is that?"

Her boss looked down at her, a bit startled. Then, after a moment, she sighed. "I always forget about your previous, er, predicament. Palpatine is meeting with Lord Vader."

Padme had to fight a gasp. She heard the name again in her mind, instead in the voice of Qui-Gon. And, now that she thought about it, she had heard this same name on the HoloNet News, back in the hospital. She turned back to Kinlie, her lips parting with a litany of questions threatening to overflow, when the doors to the Throne Room opened.

"To work!" Kinlie said shrilly, moving several steps away.

Padme turned, poising her hands over the keys of her screen. But her eyes remained on the door. The first thing that she heard was the harsh noise of ceaseless breathing—mechanical and unnatural, uncontrolled by its host. Following that came the hulking black figure it emanated from.

Every ounce of flesh was covered by a black suit of a material Padme couldn't identify off-hand. A flowing black cape swept the floor, and the top half of the suit was adorned with a belt and a chest panel with various buttons and switches. Vader's boots made hard thuds as he exited the room, and Padme had a feeling that this was a deliberate choice on his part, to further instill fear. The mask alone would have been enough, though.

It was similar, a bit, in design to the masks of the stormtroopers, but a bit more streamlined. Black half-globes were in the place of real eyes, and a vent replaced the mouth. All of this was covered by a helmet that swept down and out.

Vader walked away from the Throne Room and up the small aisle from there to the floor's main exit. Padme could simply feel that all the other eyes in the room—including Kinlie's—were averted away from this imposing figure. But Padme couldn't look away, and she felt her heart begin to race as he moved closer.

Lord Vader stopped just by Padme's cubicle, and although she couldn't say for certain, given the mask, she had the feeling that he was gazing at her. She dared a glance up directly into his face—hearing her boss give the tiniest of gasps. In a flash, she saw the images from her dream the previous night, hearing Qui-Gon's voice again, whispering this man's name.

And she knew. Her Anakin was alive. He had survived the fight with Obi-Wan on Mustafar.

Anakin _was_ Vader.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Her heart thudded against her chest. For the third time in just a couple of days, she found herself rooted to where she stood. Anakin Skywalker—her Ani—was staring at her through the lenses of an ebony mask, his respirator being the only noise filling the room. What had happened to him? Had Obi-Wan done this? Or had Anakin… had he brought his on himself?

She could feel his eyes on her, even through that horrible, horrible mask. She was elated that he was alive, truly, but she would be lying to herself if there wasn't also a bit of fear. Memories flashed across her mind, and she had to fight to stop from moving her hands up around her neck. She remembered how it had felt when Anakin had choked her, invisible hands pressing down her windpipe while she desperately tried to confess her love for him. After a moment, in the present, she could feel Kinlie's eyes resting on her too. How long had Vader and Triana—as everyone else would see them—been standing there, just staring? It felt like an eternity to her, wondering everything, wondering if he could feel her where the Emperor could not.

But in a flash, it seemed, the moment was over. Vader brushed past her, his cape sweeping over her feet, and she could have sworn she heard a little huff of a laugh over the respirator that never stopped. Padme felt her heart break all over again.

He hadn't recognized her. He had only thought she was some silly new girl, frozen and gawking at the imposing Lord of the Sith that served as Palpatine's right-hand man. Padme turned to watch as her husband, now in the guise of someone she had never known, disappeared through the doors of the offices. One could almost feel the collective sigh of relief when he was gone, and the room got noisy again as everyone felt free to carry on conversations that had paused. Kinlie appeared in her eyeline again, this time grabbing her by her shoulders.

"Tria, you've _got_ to stop doing that!"

Padme blinked at her, trying to shake herself back to normal. "Doing what?"

"That whole freeze frame thing. I mean, I know why you're doing it—the whole coma-before-the-end-of-the-Clone-Wars thing—but Lord Vader and the Emperor don't." Her voice dropped to a rough whisper, adding, "And those are two you _definitely_ don't want to piss off. Especially Vader."

Padme's brow furrow. "Why?"

The question was out of her mouth before she could think, feeling nothing but a desperation for any scrap of information about Anakin's life after her death. Kinlie rolled her eyes.

"Questions are to be avoided, Triana. But, given your former condition, I'll indulge you just once. Then you've gotta get it together. Vader is kind of… infamous. The Emperor has actually gone to some great lengths to make sure that our department keeps him off the HoloNet. But since that particular job was entrusted to just me, I've got to read, first hand, the accounts that the Emperor wants kept out of the public eye."

Padme dared not interrupt, for fear that Kinlie would lose her confidence. Her boss paused, seemingly trying to think of how best to share information without going into dangerous territory. Keep her voice low, she continued.

"He's a monster that rose out of the rubble of the destruction of the Jedi. He can use the Force. In fact, he seems to be very adept, but only the Force can help you if you slip and refer to him as a Jedi. He's a specter of death, and he's not known for his mercy. If he cuts you down with his lightsaber, then you're one of the lucky ones."

At this, Kinlie leaned back and took a breath. Padme placed a hand over her borrowed heart, convinced that if she could get the room completely quiet again, you could hear the crack forming in down the middle. Anakin had always struggled with his anger. Padme knew this. She was no idiot, after all. But "specter of death"? _Her_ Anakin? The little boy from Tatooine who had called her an angel? Who had loved his mother so? Who had wanted to do nothing but help?

Kinlie misread Padme's distress, nodding knowingly. "I know. Tread lightly, dear. Now, back to work. Best not to think about anything else."

She patted Padme on her shoulder, and Padme turned away back to her cubicle and her screen. She felt tears welling up, threatening to fall onto the equipment. She sniffed, trying to be as quiet as possible. After all, she didn't need to attract any more attention to herself than she already had. But her mind was a mess. Her memories of Anakin were now swirling with Kinlie's words playing over them. "Specter of death" was on constant repeat as she swiped and moved around various news articles, and it wasn't long until her memories of Mustafar began to resurface. Hadn't she asked Anakin if he had killed younglings? What had he answered? She racked her brain, but the memory beyond that was hazy.

Padme drew a deep—and quiet—breath, shaking her head. One problem at a time. At least Anakin was alive. That _was_ something, right? Yes, she decided after a moment. Yes, that was something. If Anakin was alive, then she could get through to him. She knew she had to do just that… but it would have to be as Padme, not Triana. And that was the primary problem.

Padme trudged through the rest of her work day, becoming almost droid-like in the level of attention she devoted to her screen. But it was better than dwelling on problems she had no answers to at the moment. When the end of the day finally—blessedly—arrived, she all but ran from the offices back to her apartment. She arrived there to find a note left by Briari, explaining that she was going out with some of her own co-workers, but to comm her if she needed anything. "Anything" was underlined three times.

She sighed, all but falling onto the sofa. It was nice, to finally have some true alone time. Of course there had been times when she had been alone previous to this—at the hospital, in between home and work, and in her own bedroom—but it didn't always feel that way. In fact, Padme had felt like there had been eyes on her since her awakening in Triana's body. One would think that being unable to declare your true name—or any closely associated fact about your previous life—would lift some of the anxiety that came with being in another person's body, but that simply wasn't true. It felt as if one wrong slip, and she'd be shipped off back to the hospital to live out the rest of this body's life. So it was nice to just sit on the sofa and breathe—especially given the events of the day.

She leaned her head on the back of the sofa, closing her eyes. Visions of Anakin both before and after Vader swam before her eyes. She sighed. Still with her eyes closed—and her ears straining to make sure Briari didn't surprise her—she tried once more to declare her true self.

"I am P—"

Again, the feeling like the words were caught, stuck on her tongue. She let the rest of the sentence die, feeling her mouth relax once more. After a breath, she tried again.

"I am the former s—"

Again, that same feeling. Her eyes flew open as she brought her head up only to be caught and covered by her hands. Frustrating didn't seem to cover what she was feeling. She wanted to scream.

 _I am Padme Amidala. I am the former senator from Naboo. I am Anakin Skywalker's wife! Where is my child? How did I die? Who survived the growth of this Empire?_

Padme leaned up, opening her eyes and lifting her head. She gasped. Standing before her, once more, was the blue, glowing figure of Qui-Gon Jinn. She stared for a long moment, biting down that primal fear and need to scream. He—it—didn't move and seemed to be staring directly at her. Finally, her face screwing up in anger, she snapped, "What do you want from me?"

Never, ever in a million years, had she expected an answer. But this new life seemed full of surprises.

"I'm here to guide you, Padme," Qui-Gon said, in the very same voice he had had when alive. "The Force has need of you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Padme felt the urge to scream rising again, but this time, it would not have been a scream of fear rather one of anger. She stood, doing a fruitless circle in the place she stood, unwilling to get physically any closer to the ghost of Qui-Gon. She clenched and unclenched her fists, finally growling a bit as she slid back into her original seat.

For his part, the ghost who had been gone… well, gone longer than she had, she noted grimly, looked nothing but vaguely amused by her reaction.

"I understand you probably have questions," he said.

Ahead of her rational thought, her mouth began to supply those various questions, in no sensible order, spilling them at the ghost with her barely taking a breath between.

"How is any of this possible? How did Anakin survive Obi-Wan's attack on Mustafar? How did Anakin become this… this monster that is Vader? How are you here? How am I in this body of a girl I didn't even know in my previous life?"

Breathless but refusing to show it, Padme sucked in air through lips that were barely open. Qui-Gon nodded, moving until his glowing form was seated next to her on the sofa.

"All of your confusion is understandable. I tried to make contact with you earlier, even earlier than the night you saw me on the balcony. But this is… uncharted territory, so to speak. According to Master Yoda, I may very well be the first Jedi to ever attain the ability to commune with people from beyond the veil of the Force."

Padme's eyes widened, and a huff of surprise that threatened to be followed by a few tears escaped from her lips. "Yoda's alive?"

Qui-Gon held up a distractingly blue-tinted hand. "All in good time, Padme. Firstly, you are in this body, the body of the departed Triana Sarbarn, because she had just enough midichlorians for me to communicate with you, but for you not to be considered a threat by the Emperor. She would have never been able to be trained as a Jedi, but she was still Force sensitive."

Palpatine's and Vader's pauses now were making a different kind of sense to her. She had been so afraid that they had known her to be Padme, when, in truth, they had simply sensed a hint of the Force in her new body. They had been sizing her up as a threat, a potential target for destruction. She felt ill to think that her husband would ever look at an innocent person like this.

"To expand on that idea, I am here as your guide. To make sure you stay the path that the Force has laid out before you," Qui-Gon continued.

Pursing her lips, she locked eyes with the ghost. There was another question she had to ask, one that needed to be answered before anything else she could possibly want to know.

"My child, Qui-Gon. What happened to my child?" she whispered.

He paused, leaning back from her a bit. She could feel his eyes roving her face, searching for what, she couldn't guess.

"What do you remember?"

He asked the question slowly, like putting your toes into uncharted waters before taking the plunge. Her stomach tightened, and she feared the worst. But she answered evenly.

"I remember everything up until Mustafar, and then things come and go. In a dream—one I'm guessing you sent me—I saw things from Mustafar that I know I couldn't have possibly seen. But beyond that… I don't remember."

His body relaxed, and Padme's brow furrowed. He was… relieved? He was relieved that she didn't remember what came after? Was he glad to spare her pain? Had something terrible happened?

"Perhaps this is for the best," he murmured.

"What? Perhaps _what_ is for the best?" she demanded.

"Much has been done since your original demise. Starting with Vader's rise to power. He has one primary task. It's true, of course, that the Emperor often doles out tasks too difficult for high ranking Imperial officers to Vader, but in the end, he has one standing order. Hunt all Jedi who have escaped Order Sixty-Six… and eliminate them by any means necessary. He is also the one the Emperor sends when he wants updates on the building of his new superweapon."

"Superweapon?" Padme asked.

But Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm not omnipotent. I know that its construction is causing great waves in the Force, sending tremors of ill across the galaxy. But that is all."

Padme sat perfectly still, absorbing this information. In her heart of hearts, she was grieving. Of course Anakin had never been perfect, he had acted out in rage before, but the last time she knew had involved fearing the loss of his mother. It was horrible what he had done to those Tusken Raiders, absolutely, but she had understood the impulse in a way she would have never admitted. But now, this? Hunting his former fellows? And now the Emperor was building some kind of mysterious superweapon? Had the Republic truly fallen so far? She rose to her feet, turning to address the ghost in the room.

"Something has to be done! The power lies with the people. There is power in numbers; this has always been true. They need only be reminded that Palpatine only has the powers he has because they gave them that power! They can easily take it away!"

She could feel that old flame being stoked, the one that had led her to victory, winning the election for Queen of Naboo. The one that had driven her when she had been asked to serve her planet once more, this time as Senator. Qui-Gon held up his hand again.

"I agree with all of this, but this is not why you are here."

She stopped her tirade, locking her gaze on him. "Then enlighten me, why don't you? Why _am_ I here? I've been wondering."

He seemed to think on this, before finally saying, "Do you happen to remember your last words?"

Padme paused. She had honestly never given any real thought to her last words. Where her child was, what had happened with Anakin, but her last words? She tried, tried to dig past the hazy memories of Mustafar. But all she could remember was pain. She shook her head.

"You told Obi-Wan that you still believed that there was good in him, in Anakin. And I believe that too, much to the dismay of many of the surviving Jedi I have been able to contact."

"Surviving? Who?" she asked.

"It's dangerous for you to know too much. But you know about Yoda, and I assume you can gather that Obi-Wan has survived. That's enough for now."

Obi-Wan was alive. Yes, she was surmising as much from her memories and the context of this conversation. But it was nice, to have it verbally confirmed.

"Vader knows this as well, so again, this is not dangerous information in and of itself. Back to the point, you are here, Padme, to remind Vader of that goodness, to remind him of Anakin."

Behind her, she heard footsteps approaching the front door of her apartment. Briari was arriving home. Qui-Gon stood.

"I will be in contact again, as soon as I can. Until then, keep out of trouble, and try to spend as much time with Vader as you possibly can. Your employment may be a key to doing just that."

With that, the deceased Jedi faded from view. Padme blinked, managing to turn just as Briari entered, carrying an armful of vegetables.

"I brought dinner," she said. Then, catching the look on Padme's face, she added, "Something wrong?"

Padme shook herself, forcing a smile on her face. "No, nothing. Just wasn't expecting you home so soon."

Briari shrugged. "My friends got boring. Hungry? Shall I start?"

She was already heading toward the kitchen when Padme nodded in response. With Briari's back to her, she took a moment to stare at the spot where Qui-Gon had been. Her last words had been about Anakin… she tried again to remember, but again, nothing.

There was good in him. Yes. She still believed that. The road ahead would be difficult, but she had never let that stop her before.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It took some time, a few weeks to be precise, but finally, Padme had proven to Kinlie that she deserved promotion. Now, she was one of the Sector Liaisons called Scenters or Hounds—which meant physically hunting down the source of bigger rumors instead of sitting in front of a screen. It was tiring work, Padme was quick to discover, as she had spent the last several hours literally going back and forth between different office buildings in the same three districts, each one meeting a different person leading to another person leading to another. After about the eighth or ninth person, she had discovered the name of the man who had supposedly started the rumor she was hunting to quell. Groaning, she found herself at the base of the Senate Office Building—the very same building that she worked within when not out on the hunt. Only, instead of going to the very top floor, the man she searched for was on the third floor.

His name was Dain Flast, and he was a senator's assistant. One who, apparently, didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. The rumor he was busy passing around concerned a new bill the Emperor was putting into effect—without the vote of the Senate. It was something to the general effect of building his military effort, but the more shocking part was the lack of a Senate vote on it. After what Padme had seen so far, she had no doubt that this rumor was probably more than that—most likely, it was fact. But that wasn't what mattered now. Sighing, Padme marched into a building that was more than familiar to her.

She found the office of Flast's senator quickly enough, and she tapped the small screen next to the silver doors. She heard the sound on the other side, alert to whomever was within that there was a visitor.

"One moment," a bored, nasally voice called back.

Padme arched a brow. She really hoped that none of her assistants had treated visitors to her office—back when she was in her own body, in her own life, and not the product of some grand plan by the Force—like this. Because everything about that voice made Padme feel unwanted and unwelcomed. A moment later, the doors slid open, and Padme stepped over the threshold into a waiting room of sorts, decorated much like the one that had preceded her office had been—burgundy and beige, very sparsely done in actual decorative pieces. There was a long desk that served as a sort of barrier between the waiting room and the door to the actual office beyond. Sitting behind the desk was a slim man, dressed in emerald green robes, with white-blond hair and very pointed features. His eyes lifted slowly to acknowledge her, as he lazily picked up a HoloScreen.

"Name and reason for appointment to see the Senator," he drawled.

"I'm not here to see Senator Tisa. You would be Dain Flast, wouldn't you?" she said.

At this, a ripple of difference passed his otherwise bored looking face. A moment of surprise, before he was back to his normal indifference—normal, Padme assumed, given to his natural ability to reclaim the look so quickly. He stood, folding his hands in front of him.

"Yes, I am. Why would you be looking for me, Miss…?"

"My name isn't important. What _is_ important is that I'm here as a representative of the Emperor's Sector Liaisons."

At this, the man's whole demeanor changed. Any color in his already pallid face drained, he visibly gulped, and his eyes began to dart all about the room. Padme arched a brow. She took a single step toward the desk, and Flast backed away. Padme tried another step, and again, he retreated. He looked like a frightened woodland creature, ready to bolt at any moment.

"Flast—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Please," he whispered. "I-I didn't mean… I didn't _know_ it would spread so far. I o-overheard—"

He stopped, falling to his knees. Padme now retreated a step, surprised. He held up clasped hands.

"Please! I'll undo it, however I can. Please, please don't kill me!'

Now she gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth. Flast was now near sobbing. Was this what Briari had been so worried about? Speak one ill word of this new government, and it was a death sentence? Her stomach churned, and she dropped her hand to her side, clenching it into a fist.

"I'm not going to kill you. Please, stand up," she said, dashing forward and pulling him to his feet before he could argue.

"Wh-what? You're not?"

"No. Instead, I'll make you a deal—one that you'll have to be sure to keep your mouth shut on, or else I won't be any help to you."

"Anything," Flast agreed.

"Good. First off, stop this rumor that you've passed around. Lie if you have to but end it. Second, any more of these types of rumors get _overheard_ by you… bring them to me. And _no one_ else. Understood?"

"Of course. But… who… are you?" he asked.

Padme's mouth froze as she tried to form her real name. She mentally cursed at Qui-Gon, as his was the only name she could put blame on for her situation at the moment and tried again.

"Triana Sarbarn. I'll comm you the rest of my information. Until then, for the Force's sake, keep your damn mouth shut!"

He nodded, thanking her profusely, as she turned and left the offices. "I'll be watching, you know," she threw over her shoulder.

She let the door _swoosh_ shut behind her, walking several feet up the corridor before pausing. She cast her eyes about, making sure that there were no cameras in the vicinity—or, at least, any cameras that would single her out. As it turned out, there were a lot of cameras employed in the Empire's new world. Once she was sure that she was as alone as she could ever be, she stopped, leaning against the wall by another set of offices on this level. She shut her eyes, groaning.

What had that man thought? Had he thought that she was going to _hurt_ him? Torture him? Or turn him over to Darth Vader… which, by all accounts, was the worst fate? But she had threatened him, for the Force's sake. She felt sick—at herself, at the world. Sure, as a politician, she had done some… light threatening. But nothing like that. Nothing containing actual, bodily harm or the implication of it. She pressed a hand to her stomach, nauseated. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and then took another. She kept her eyes shut, willing her mind to be still. It was an exercise Anakin had taught her, what seemed like an age ago. It was apparently something they taught very early on at the Jedi Temple. She tried very hard to push that out of mind, as that would do nothing to quiet it. After a few silent struggles, a blissful sort of white noise filled her thoughts.

Only to be invaded by very real, very recognizable voices.

Padme's eyes flew open as she realized that the voices were coming from within the very offices she stood next to. She paused, looking over at the nameplate on the other side of the door. She gasped.

She was standing outside Mon Mothma's office and hadn't even realized. From within, Mon Mothma was speaking. The voices were muffled, but Padme could tell that they had to be standing close to the other side of the door—otherwise the conversation would be impossible to hear.

"He's pushing too far. I fear for the survival of the Senate," Mon Mothma said, sighing.

"Is there any basis for this rumor? More funding on the military? Without Senate approval?" a male voice answered.

It took Padme a moment, a deep delve into her memory, before she recognized the speaker as the Prince Consort and Senator of Alderaan, Bail Organa. She turned, resting her forehead against the wall, straining her ears to listen.

"Not here, Bail. We need to find a safer place to convene. For those with minds like ours, leanings like ours, to speak. I fear the Senate Floor is no longer such a place."

Padme pursed her lips, curling her fingers into a fist. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_. This was everything, _everything_ , she had ever fought against. And now, her Ani, in the guise of Darth Vader, was a part of this? An enforcer, a thug, a tyrant? That sick feeling in her stomach churned once more, and she bit down the growl that yearned to break free.

"No place in Coruscant is safe," Bail said, dejected.

"I fear no place in the galaxy is, but we must try. There are eyes and ears all about, even here, in my office."

Padme's brow furrowed. Underneath her body, the panel in the wall emitted a single _beep_. She yelped, jumping back, as Mon Mothma's voice filtered clearly out through the speaker.

"I could see you quite clearly on my security cam, young lady. Please, why don't you step inside?"

The doors to the offices opened, revealing Mothma and Bail standing almost upon the threshold, staring expectantly at her. Padme felt the urge to groan rise within once more. This could go very well, or very poorly—no in between. Putting a small, albeit apologetic smile on her face, Padme entered the office, stopping just far enough in so that the doors closed easily behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Padme knew there was only one way to play this situation, this impromptu meeting with Mon Mothma and Bail Organa. Honesty. Or, at least, as much honesty that the Force or whatever was keeping her true identity a secret would allow her. She lifted her hands, palms out, and faced each of them with unwavering confidence.

"I swear to you, on my life, that the Emperor will never hear of what I learned here today," she stated.

Brows arched, Bail and Mothma exchanged a glance. Padme lowered her arms, slowly, to let them dangle in full view at her sides. She had to be the picture of total innocence and honesty—which she was, they just were unaware of that.

"Do I know you?" Mon Mothma asked after a moment.

That was a loaded question. But, Padme knew what the woman really meant. She nodded.

"I ran into you one day on my way into my work. I'm a Sector Liaison, recently promoted to Scenter. I'm Triana Sarbarn."

Mon Mothma nodded. "Yes. Yes, I remember. You said that you were a 'fan' of mine, correct?"

Padme sighed, smiling. "Yes, that's right."

"That doesn't guarantee your silence on this matter, Miss Sarbarn. You are a Scenter, by your own admission," Bail put in.

"Agreed, unfortunately," Mothma added. "How can we be sure of your silence?"

 _Because you_ know _me. Because I'm Senator Padme Amidala from Naboo_ , she screamed internally. But she knew that her "restrictions" would easily come into play here. Instead, she opted for a different approach. Leaning around the two senators, she pointed to the secretarial desk outside the door of the primary office.

"You have a map on there of the galaxy, right? May I?" she asked, pushing past them before they could object.

She operated the desk on memory alone, which she found darkly funny. She couldn't remember the exact moments of her death, or the fate of her child, but she could remember how to operate a damn desk holo. A few keystrokes later, a shrunken map of the galaxy hovered over the desk.

"You were looking for a safe place to… talk. I get all sorts of news of the Emperor's doings across my desk." She zoomed into a far corner of the galaxy, to a solar system apart of the Outer Rim Territories. "The gangsters still have a strong hold here, and the Empire has holdings in this area. But it's a joke, compared to planets here closer to Coruscant. Stop for a moment in Dantoonie, and then move on. Perhaps here, to one of the moons of Yavin? Most of them are covered in dense flora, which would make… _things_ difficult."

While it was hard to remember to keep some things quiet in this Empire—since she was used to speaking so freely in the Senate and the Republic—she was still a politician. All politicians kept secrets. Mon Mothma and Bail joined her on either side, staring at the map.

"How do you know the Imperial contingent here is small?" Bail asked.

"The Republic never had a hold on these planets—and never even tried for the Yavin system—so there was no existing foothold for the Empire. I've read all the reports on this myself. The Emperor isn't concerned, however, as he deems the planets of the Outer Rim useless."

"Impressive," Mothma murmured. Padme smiled. However, a frown was returned. "But this still doesn't prove your silence."

Padme hit a button, sending the holo away. She stepped back to better address both of them.

"Then what _could_ I do?"

At this, silence. Mothma and Bail glanced once more at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation. Padme could guess at their quiet debate. She would hesitate as well. So, instead, she offered the only real solution they had.

"What if I passed you information, from this moment on?" she asked.

They both startled at this offer. She pressed on, explaining.

"I'm a Sector Liaison. I get reports and such that either no one ever gets to see, or that I see first. I'll pass anything useful along to you. To be researched, of course. How does that sound?"

"Are you sure?" Bail asked. Before Padme could answer, he added, "Doing this would put not only you, but any family you have in terrible danger. Should word get out…"

He left the sentence to Padme's imagination to finish. A stab of guilt tore at Padme's heart as Briari's face flittered across her mind. There were so many forces—pun not intended—at play in this young woman's life that she was completely unaware of… She didn't even know that Triana—the _real_ Triana—had long since passed on into the Force. It wasn't best situation, to be honest. But Padme knew what it was to sacrifice for the greater good. For the betterment of peoples everywhere. For regaining freedom.

"I have to do what is right. For the galaxy. I can't stand idly by while people everywhere are hurt and exploited by… by a monster."

She had almost said "Sith."

"The Republic must be restored at all costs," she stated with a tone of finality.

"Very well," Mon Mothma said, sounding confident in this decision. "We look forward to future communications from you, Miss Sarbarn."

Padme nodded, turned on heel, and exited Mothma's senatorial offices. She knew she had just entered into a dangerous contract, but, oddly, she felt lighter than air—the best she had felt yet in this new body.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It was hard to believe in such a panicked, turmoiled new era, but the following two weeks managed to pass Padme by without great incident. And despite her new promotion, she had found herself largely back at her desk. A lot of rumors circulated around the HoloNet, about everything from the Emperor and Vader (which were ones of greatest concern to the Sector Liaisons) to Holo celebrities. Of these, there had been very few in the last stretch of time that seemed terribly interesting. What little she did find, she sent off to Mothma and Organa, stalling until she herself went to quell them. She had even used her "privileges" to turn some of the gossips into informants. Overall, she was rather proud of herself.

It was a nice change of pace, if nothing else. It was good to feel like she was doing _something_ against this insane tyranny. She was never one to be complacent, and Force destiny or not, damned if she'd be complacent now. So, in this rarest of "slow" times, she sat in front of her HoloScreen, scrolling through the so-called "reputable" gossip sites. Her eyes were going a little glazed, she was sure, and boredom seemed to be setting in as she found herself reading the same sentences multiple times. She was startled out of this by a flurry of motion.

Kinlie appeared at her side, moving despite remaining at Padme's shoulder. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were scanning Padme's face wildly. Padme's brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The Emperor, Triana, is requesting to see you. Specifically, _you_ ," she answered in something between a whisper and a squeak.

Padme's eyes turned toward the door to the Emperor's offices—Throne Room. Instantly, her stomach felt like it had plummeted to her knees. Her heart began to beat double-time. So far she had managed to avoid Palpatine ever since her last encounter, and she had not seen Vader in weeks, despite Qui-Gon's voice echoing in her mind. How was she supposed to get closer to her Ani, remind him of who he truly is, if she never saw him? And why did Palpatine want to see her now? Did he know? Did he sense the farce of her being?

A hand on Padme's shoulder caused her to startle again, and she turned back, seeing that Kinlie still stood there.

"He wants to see you _now_ , Triana. You are feeling well, yeah?"

Her eyes drifted down, and it was then that Padme realized that her hands were resting on her stomach—where the swell would be, were she still pregnant. She dropped her hands to her sides, hiding them for a moment in the folds of her skirts.

"I'm fine. Just fine. Right now?"

Kinlie nodded. Padme turned back toward the doors, sucking in a deep breath. She shoved her nervousness, her worries, down. She willed them to be quiet, if only for these next few moments. She was a politician, formerly a senator and queen. She knew how to school her face into neutrality, despite whatever the situation. She had to bite down a touch of a laugh at that.

That had been one of the things that she and Anakin had supposedly had in common with one another, a control over one's emotions. She exited her cubicle, approaching the silver doors. They were very much like every other door in every other political building on Coruscant, but suddenly, they were also very different. Intimidating. She took another breath and reached over to the screen on the door's right, hitting a button to let the Emperor know she was there. The doors opened a moment later, and she stepped inside.

For a moment, she allows herself a bit of blindness, just to get her feet moving—her body reacting. She walked forward a few feet, just until she was a healthy distance away from the withered husk that used to be Sheev Palapatine. She forced her body to bend gracefully into a practiced bow.

"You wished to see me, your majesty?" she said, mechanically, as if this were all a play of make-believe.

Like she wasn't addressing the dictator of the galaxy. Like he wasn't the murderer of so many of her friends. Of perhaps even her, given his machinations.

Before she even lifted her head, before Palpatine could even speak, she heard it. The even, unstoppable rhythm of in and out, inhale and exhale. Her pretend blindness faded away. She was in a room not unlike Palpatine's old offices, just sans desk and with a larger chair. Other than that, it was rather barren, save for a blood-red rug that led from the entrance straight to the throne. She dared to peek out from underneath Triana's flaming locks.

He was there. Her Anakin, Palpatine's Vader, he was there. He was standing on the Emperor's right… truly, his right-hand man. Palpatine wheezed out a cackle.

"Stand, Miss Sarbarn. So polite. You are trained well."

She pulled herself up straight, finding herself face-to-face with a hideous, yellow-toothed grin from Palpatine. She dared not risk a glance at Anakin, at Vader. Oh, she didn't even know what to call him. Fighting flinching against the grin, she returned it, weakly.

"To what do I owe the great honor of this request, my emperor?" she asked.

The words were like poison in her mouth, rolling around waiting to be swallowed. Vader stood still as a statue, the only evidence of his life being the ever-present sound of his respirator. Palpatine leaned back in his throne, his robed body crumpling to fit its shape.

"I am very pleased with your hard work, Miss Sarbarn. You are, perhaps, the quickest to ever be promoted to Scenter. Even Kinlie wasn't promoted so quickly. Very impressive. I know it must be difficult, stomping out those unsavory—and completely false—rumors about myself, Lord Vader, and others of my Imperial force."

"Thank you, your majesty."

She prayed someone would end this nightmare, having to kowtow to this monster. She did dare a glance, ever so brief, at Vader—still statuesque. Padme put her stare back on the Emperor, who was still grinning at her. She made her mind a blank slate.

"After reviewing your good work, I believe you to be the best candidate for the particular task I have in mind."

"I am flattered, my emperor."

She hated everything about this moment. Palpatine blessedly turned from her to stare up at Vader.

"That is why I have requested your presence here as well, Lord Vader, as this task concerns you as well."

"It does, my master?" he questioned, his voice made much deeper and much more electronic by a vocoder.

Padme felt a lump in her throat. This was all wrong. She wanted to scream. Wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_. But she kept it out of her thoughts and led herself back to calmer waters. After all, this was what the Force wanted, wasn't it? Excuses to put Padme in Anakin's path.

"Yes, Lord Vader. You are to go to your newly constructed castle on Mustafar."

Flashed of heat, lava, and despair danced in front of Padme's eyes. Palpatine continued.

"Miss Sarbarn is to go with you."

Padme couldn't stop her eyes widening, just a touch. Vader turned to fully face the Emperor.

"And what purpose does this serve?"

"The purpose," Palpatine answered, not without bite, "is so that your reputation can be spread. I want the whole galaxy to know that they are in safe, capable hands. Miss Sarbarn will follow you on missions and report them directly on the HoloNet."

"And why can she not do so from here, my master?"

Padme fought a smile. At least Anakin was loyal to her, even in her death. He had eyes for no other. Given the last several weeks of her life, she would take a win where she could get it.

"Authenticity, Lord Vader. That is why she is to go with you. She is to announce that she is there with you, on any given mission, so that the people of this galaxy will know."

A beat of silence, in which Padme had a feeling she shouldn't break. Finally, "Will she accompany me on _all_ missions?"

Palpatine grinned, and Padme felt sick for an entirely different reason this time.

"No, Lord Vader. Not _all_ missions." At this, he turned back to Padme, "The two of you shall depart tomorrow morning. I will send Lord Vader his first mission, and your first report opportunity, once you are settled. That is all, Miss Sarbarn. You are dismissed."

"My gratitude, your majesty," she said, bowing.

She turned on heel and left at once, stopping only when the doors to the Throne Room were shut behind her. Qui-Gon and the Force would get their way, in one manner or another. It looked like she would get to be spending a _lot_ of time with Anakin in the future.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Briari's face was pinched into one of obvious worry as she stood in the doorway to Padme's room. Padme, for her part, was hunched over the bed, packing the last of her two bags. She leaned forward on the lid of her second bag—having not yet acquired a wardrobe anywhere near her previous one—putting all her strength into getting it to snap shut. A lock of her red hair fell into her peripheral vision. It was funny to think that just several weeks ago, she would still jump at the sight of the stranger in the mirror. Now, the body of Triana Sarbarn almost seemed as familiar as her old one. Almost.

Padme glanced up, seeing Briari looking as if she might curl in on herself with her concern. She flashed her a smile.

"I'll be fine, Briari. I will," she said.

The case finally shut with a satisfying _snap_ , and Padme righted her body. Briari seemed rooted to the spot in the door, one hand gripping the threshold as if she might brace herself in between her sister and the rest of the world. Padme rounded the bed and stopped just before the blonde, gently laying a hand on both shoulders.

"I can take care of myself."

It was something that old Padme would have said to any number of her old friends, colleagues, and family. They would have nodded, solemnly knowing that the young girl who grew up to be queen and senator of Naboo was ultimately right. In most situations, Padme could more than handle herself. But now, as Triana, the sentiment made Briari snort out a laugh. Padme arched a brow, and the amusement quickly faded from the other woman's face.

"I'm sorry. It's just… you were never good at taking care of yourself. You know… before. I know that you're different now. I've seen the proof of it, what with the success you've had in your job. You hardly ever go out anymore either. And, while that's both worried me and made me very happy… This is different. This… assignment is a whole different scenario."

Padme retracted her hands, folding them in front of herself. Briari, one of the few living links she had to the world after the end of the Clone Wars.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Briari blew out a sigh. "Lord Vader… He's… He's not… I scarcely want to say anything, honestly, for fear of who might hear. But… he's not normal."

It hurt, to hear someone describe her Ani as "not normal." But she understood where Briari was coming from. Given that she was supposed to have been in a coma before Vader's rise to power—and that she wanted to get as much information as Briari might have on Vader from a more average person point of view—she shrugged.

"He can use the Force, like the Jedi could. I know that much. I do comb over the HoloNet for a living."

Briari shook her head. "No, Triana. No. He's… he's dangerous. He's not governed by the rules that the Jedi were. He's violent. He's dark. Honestly, dangerous isn't a word big enough for what he is. He's death incarnate, Tria. And the Emperor is sending you away to be his vassal."

Death incarnate. That was a new description for the terrifying Vader that Padme had yet to learn. From what she _had_ learned, though, it fit. The Force had a greater plan for her, however, which left Padme with only one thing she could do right this moment. She reached out and enveloped Briari in a warm, tight hug.

"I'll be careful. I swear it," she said.

Briari returned the hug with the tightest grip she could muster. With that, Padme gathered up her cases and went to the designated landing platform to meet Vader. She understood that Briari did not want to see her off there.

On the platform was Vader, overseeing the loading of supplies, as well as some sort of servant. He was robed in deep purple, and he stood as if he was expecting Vader to bodily slap him at any point. He grinned, and it was a terrible sight—what Padme imagined a rat would look like if it smiled. She had no idea what his rank could be, or what his purpose was, but she approached both Vader and this man without fear.

Vader looked briefly away from the pair of stormtroopers and two red-clad Imperial Guards that seemed to be finishing up to put his attention on her. Padme felt as if a weight had been set upon her shoulders. She stood up straight and looked right into the imposing black orbs on his mask.

"You're on time," he breathed, his voice resonating with that unnatural deepness.

She nodded. "As ordered, milord."

Inwardly, she cringed at being so formal with her husband. But, given the givens… Vader turned from her, gesturing to the old man that stood stooped by his side.

"This is Vanee, my personal attendant. He will oversee most things at Dark Monolith."

Padme arched a brow. "Dark Monolith, Lord Vader?"

There was a pause, in which only Vader's breathing and the general bustle of Coruscant filled the air.

"The name of my castle on Mustafar," he answered.

"Ah. I understand, Lord Vader."

Oh, how she longed to call him by his true name. Before that feeling could deepen, a stormtrooper rushed over, announcing that the supplies had been loaded onto the ship. Padme glanced up at the vessel. It was large, but not as large as a cargo carrier. It was Imperial in design, but overall very nondescript. This was not the style of ship her Anakin would have chosen, but one that someone who was trying to stay fairly unnoticed would. If Padme had to guess, Vader was taking this vessel so only the select few he wished to would know that he was going to Mustafar.

Vader dismissed the stormtrooper, turning to Vanee.

"Take Sarbarn to her quarters on the ship," he ordered.

Vanee bowed deeply, answering with a simple "yes, milord" before Vader swept by him. Vanee straightened—or, at least as much as he could—and reached for one of Padme's bags. She grabbed the other, and he gestured that she follow him.

"And… where will Lord Vader be during our flight?" she tried to inquire as casually as possible.

Perhaps her nervousness was misread as fear, since Vanee grinned at the question. They climbed the gangplank, and Vanee turned left, gesturing to a small archway set diagonally from where they entered. There was a small communal area, one more room set on the opposite side from the gangplank, and then the door to the cockpit. Beyond the communal area, there was another archway, this one seemingly leading to a storage area. The stormtroopers and Imperial guards were standing in the communal area, and Vader was nowhere to be seen.

"Lord Vader will be the one piloting the vessel. Now, if you will please secure yourself inside your room for the take-off. Lord Vader recognizes that the Emperor would not want someone instrumental to his plans injured before said plans could be implemented," Vanee answered.

He was flying. Of course, he was flying. Padme fought the smile coming to her lips. Anakin had loved to fly, and it brought her great joy to know that he still enjoyed such pleasures. She thanked Vanee and entered the small room. It had no space for sleeping, but she knew from experience that Mustafar was not so far from Coruscant as to warrant that. A table was bolted to the far wall, as well as a cushioned chair. A rack on the wall to the right of the door provided just enough space for her cases, and she securely fastened them in before following with herself in the chair. The door to her room slid shut, and she heard the distant engines flare to life. Before long, they were in Hyperspace, and Padme was left alone with nothing but her cases and her thoughts. She felt no urge to socialize with the troopers, guards, or really anyone else but Anakin.

Though, truth be told, she wasn't yet ready to speak to Anakin either. There were still things she needed to figure out, things she needed to fix. Problem number one, the inability to mention her true name or anything specifically dealing with her past life. How was she ever going to remind Anakin of the good he still had within him if she couldn't remind him of the good things of his past? After all, from what Padme could see, his present was filled with joys that were few and far between.

"I'm Pa—"

Her own name caught in her throat, refusing to finish. She was alone, and yet she still could not speak the truth. She sighed. There had to be a loophole. From what she remembered of Qui-Gon's reputation, he was known especially for finding loopholes. If he was her otherworldly sponsor in this venture, then there had to be one. She lost herself in her thoughts, tapping her fingers on the arms of her chair. She tried several sentences, all getting cut off at the important details.

She could hear movement outside her quarters after a while, and she realized that they must have been in Hyperspace for at least an hour now. She groaned. She knew they still had a couple of standard hours left in space before they would arrive. She had yet to make any progress.

"I wore lace at ou—"

She growled as the words died before they could even reach her lips. Her brow furrowed. Loophole. The word swirled through her head. Loophole, loophole, loophole. Then, it hit her.

"I wore lace at _my_ wedding."

A complete sentence. She marveled at the feel of it, the truth she had conveyed. She tried again.

"I am from N—" she paused, rethinking after the forced stop. "I have been to Naboo."

A grin broke out across her face, and she could almost squeal at the joy she felt. If she kept the details impersonal… that was it. That was her loophole. Well, politicians were skilled at vague, yet informational words. This was it. This was the key to getting closer to Anakin, to letting him know the truth.

A slight jarring, just barely perceivable, alerted her to the fact that they were now leaving Hyperspace. Another several minutes passed, and she felt the ship make its landing. She unbuckled herself, opening the door to find Vanee standing, waiting, on the other side.

"Lord Vader commands me to escort you into Dark Monolith, to show you your quarters within. The stormtroopers will bring your cases in due time. Please, follow."

She nodded, her ears catching the sound of Vader's familiar, regulated breathing. She glanced beyond Vanee to see him exiting the ship. Vanee turned, and both he and Padme followed after.

The moment her feet hit the landing platform, she froze. The metal was warm, despite being built to be personable even though it was suspended above lava. She could still feel the heat through the soles of her shoes, and it surrounded her. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and a cold sweat formed on the back of her neck. Images flooded her. She could hear herself—her old self—begging. She could feel the press of invisible hands on her windpipe. She could almost feel the tears in her eyes as she continued to beg, to try and profess her love. And then, clear as day, she could see him—her Ani. His hand outstretched, never touching her, but strangling her all the same. She could see the yellowed eyes, the anger, and the hate. She could see the sting of the perceived betrayal. But… why? Why had Anakin thought she had betrayed him? She struggled, trying to dig beyond these images, to access the rest of the horrific memory.

The memories vanished as her knees struck the metal of the platform. Back in the present, she gasped, finding herself staring at platform beneath her. She was held up from it on shaking hands and knees. Her breath was coming in huffs and sweat was pouring down her face. In the next moment, once her breathing was just a tad more controlled, she realized that someone was staring at her.

She looked up, seeing not only Vanee, but Vader staring down at her. She blinked, launching herself to her feet. She was relieved to find herself relatively stable. Vanee scoffed, shaking his head like a disapproving teacher.

"Lord Vader deserves an honorable procession. Not some clumsy bantha tripping and falling over herself," he snipped.

Padme's face screwed up in anger. "Perhaps if I wasn't expected to wear such ridiculous skirts in such insane environs, I would not have been overcome by the heat, you simple-minded sycophant."

The words were out of her mouth before she could even think. Her eyes widened, landing on Vader. This man before her—not her Ani—was known for violence. For disciplining subordinates with strangulation and lightsaber slashes. The Sith Lord eyed her through the emotionless globes of his mask. Then, he turned away.

"Keep up, Sarbarn, or you _will_ be left," he said, continuing into the looming obsidian castle called Dark Monolith.

"Yes, my lord. My apologies," she muttered, losing no time in catching up.

The less time she spent out amongst the environment of this planet, the better.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part II**

" _Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."_ \- Oscar Wilde

 **Chapter Eleven**

Padme only spent four standard days on Mustafar—carefully avoiding any outdoor regions. She used this time, which was largely unscheduled, to explore her new, albeit temporary, residence. There was a large receiving room in the center, surrounded by a manmade reservoir of lava that moved and drained continuously from one side of Dark Monolith to the other. She spent little time in this room, instead following a hall that led out and up into the castle. She found a kitchen, inhabited by only a couple of droids—who enthusiastically greeted her upon her arrival. She got the impression from said droids that Lord Vader did not order food made often. She had to practically escape the room by promising them she would return when hungry. She followed the hall farther up the structure as far as she could before a pair of crimson Imperial Guards stopped her. They informed her that the rooms beyond were Lord Vader's private resident and beings were granted entry by his orders only. So, properly deterred, she turned and ventured back down.

Her room—which was large, spacious, largely unornamented, and darkly colored—was on the bottom floor off a small hall from the receiving room, barely noticeable. There were landing pads on the front and back sides of Dark Monolith, though the front one seemed to be the one intended for general use. She returned the kitchens—and the overly happy kitchen droids—and ordered simply for her midday meal. She stood by, watching the droids prepare it—since she had nothing else better to do in this bleak, horrible place. Her mother had always told her that droids were the worst cooks, and Padme, in her previous life, had followed this advice to a T. All of her chefs had been living beings. When her food was finished, she understood what her mother had meant. It was edible but bland. She ate it without complaint, thanking the pleased droids when she was finished. She left the kitchen deep in thought.

Anakin had loved food. He was always so high energy, and as such, ate a ton. She had made him several meals during their first nights together, pleased to show off some of the traditional Naboo dishes her mother had taught her. She had honestly thought she would never have to use the skill that her parents had all but forced her and her sister to learn. Anakin had eaten every bite of everything she had placed before him, always asking for seconds and thirds. He had complimented her cooking, and she had thought him just being polite. However, whenever he managed to find time to be back on Coruscant during the Clone Wars, he was always requesting one of those meals. Just thinking of it now brought her joy… and a tinge of sadness.

Among all the things she should be thinking about, she found it a little funny that she was also worried that her husband wasn't eating. Maybe, because of his injuries… maybe food was difficult for him. Maybe it was another loss he had suffered. A part of her knew, logically, that it was all in balance for what he had done. But… she loved Anakin still… it hurt her to think of him hurting.

She returned to her rooms and found a small HoloReader on her bed, a single file in its storage. It was instructions for a mission that they would leave for in a few days' time, and that she should be promptly available. Three days later, she was standing near the gangplank of the shuttle they had arrived on Mustafar in, awaiting Vader's arrival. The oppressive heat of the planet crushed in on her, threatening to suffocate, and she feared she may have another episode like the one she had had upon arrival. But Vader arrived, his sweeping black figure cutting a dangerous path directly toward her. He moved past her, into the ship, and she followed gratefully after.

She put herself back inside the too-small quarters, pulling out the HoloReader she had been left. She had brought it with her to take notes on anything she might see on this mission but found that another file had been uploaded to it. She opened it, finding that it contained details on why they were going to a remote, jungle-like planet in the far reaches of the Republic's—the Empire's—control. She read it quickly, and by the end, she felt ill. Her hands clenched, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from audibly responding to the information within.

This was a slaver planet. One of the few that the Republic had gained control of just before its forced transformation into the Empire. They were on a mission to "free" the slaves. Only, the Empire had just constructed a new weapons factory on the planet, and it required workers. The slaves were going to be given "jobs" within the factory, so that they could financially support their new freedom. It sounded great on the surface, until she had reached the information about pay. It was less than a fourth of what a full citizen would be paid for the same work. The conditions in the factory was sub-par—just enough to make sure the majority would survive to work. It was to be a workday with no rests, and it would consist of six out of the seven standard days of the week.

Padme shoved the tip of her thumb into her mouth, biting down on it to keep from yelling. This was everything— _everything_ —she had ever fought against. Not to mention, Vader was listed as overseeing that things were done quickly and quietly. Vader, who had once been her Anakin, who in turn had once been a slave on Tatooine. How was he going through with this? What could he be thinking? What could he be feeling? She knew that he must know the details, if she did.

An hour later, they made landing on the planet. Twenty minutes following that, she stood alongside the Sith Lord and watched as an Imperial garrison that had arrived shortly before they had organized lines of slaves to have their chips removed. Padme watched with horrified eyes, barely even registering the bothersome insects that kept landing on her arms and biting her. Every so often, she would turn, staring up at Vader as much as she dared, wondering what he must honestly think of all of this.

As each newly "freed" slave was finished up with on the chip-removal line, they were ushered to another line where they would receive work jumpsuits, the bare minimum that could pass for a week's worth of rations, and directions to the building built adjacent to the factory—a set of disgusting dormitories. For something that claimed to be newly constructed, it was dingy, dirty, and looked as though it was going to be overcrowded in mere moments.

Off to Padme's and Vader's left, a small commotion began. Both turned as a woman began crying and was quickly restrained by two low-ranking imperials.

"Is there a problem, Private?" Vader asked, his voice barely needing to raise to be heard.

"No problem, Lord Vader. The woman became distraught when she learned that the children are to be housed at a different dormitory, a few clicks south."

The woman was sagging in the man's arms as her little girl was carted off by two other imperials. Padme's fingers curled underneath her HoloReader, her right foot taking an instinctual step forward. Once the vehicle full of children was driven away, the woman was finally made to join the line of new workers. Padme pressed her fingers to her quivering lips.

"What's going to happen to them, the younglings?" she asked.

She had not entirely meant to say it out loud. To her surprise, Vader answered.

"They will receive an education and training to join the Imperial Army."

He must have thought she was asking for her article. She forced her hand down, gripping the Reader so hard she thought she might break the thin piece of technology. So, in one fell swoop, the Empire was receiving cheap labor and free loyal soldiers. She was going to be sick.

It took several standard hours to completely transfer the so-called freed slaves to their dormitories—production would start officially in the morning. Vader turned, informing her to remain where she was before stalking off to question a high-ranking official. Padme eyed the interaction, but she dared not move closer. Were this any other being than her powerful husband, she would have been within earshot in moments. However, things were tenuous at the moment. Vader didn't know who she was, who she really was. Any misstep now could have her labeled as a spy against the Empire, which would lead quickly to her second death.

"We're leaving," Vader said as he swept past her.

She nodded, falling into step behind him. She noticed that a pair of stormtroopers had fallen into step behind her. They boarded the shuttle, with Vader going to the cockpit to pilot and the stormtroopers going to the communal area. Padme stared at the doorway to her small quarters and found herself thinking of those terrible dormitories. She had not seen the inside of that building, but she had the feeling that she didn't need to do so. Without a thought, she tucked her HoloReader into the pockets of her skirt and entered the cockpit, sliding into the empty co-pilot chair.

She stared out at the jungle planet, already getting smaller in the viewer. She was unaware of anything until they broke through the atmosphere. It was then that she heard the rhythmic breathing that had come to characterize Vader's presence. She blinked, as if only now realizing where she was—and who she was—and became suddenly aware that Vader was staring at her.

"What are you doing here, Sarbarn?" he demanded.

She blinked again. "Forgive me. I, uh… I know how to fly a little. I thought that, um, I would offer my assistance as co-pilot, since there was no one else."

She stumbled over her excuse, fumbling for every word. It wasn't exactly a lie—she could fly. But piloting had been the furthest thing from her mind. In truth, she was simply seeking out a distraction and maybe the comfort of company after witnessing such a horrible thing. She couldn't get the image of the crying mother out of her mind, and she found herself absentmindedly resting a hand over her belly.

"No assistance is required," Vader stated, turning back to face the stars now blurring past.

She made no move to stand, and he said nothing else to her about it. Instead, she stared ahead, out the viewer, her thoughts and feelings in a jumble. It was so odd, such a true reminder of the situation she found herself in. In her original body, as her original self, she would have never thought twice about taking the seat next to Anakin. But now she was not Padme—at least, not to the man sitting next to her. She was Triana, and she was as forced on him as he was on her. She glanced sideways at him.

Was he thinking about their "mission" as well? Was he seeing the crying mother in his mind's eye too?

Was he thinking of her? Of their child? Of his past?

Her lips parted. She wetted them with the tip of her tongue. She was aware she was about to step into dangerous territory—like doing a dance in the middle of a minefield. But she had to know.

"How am I supposed to write about that?" she asked.

For a moment, only his breathing answered her. Finally, without looking at her, he said, "It is your duty. You will do it, and that is all there is to the matter."

She almost snorted. She choked down any laughter she felt rising. All this time hearing about Vader—seeing him act as Vader—but that was the most Anakin thing she had ever heard him say. Well, Serious Jedi Anakin. There had always been two Anakins, in her mind. Serious Jedi Anakin and Funny Loving Anakin. Now, she thought, there were three.

"I will, write the article, I mean. I just… How can I justify that? How do I make what I just saw okay?"

"It is treason to speak so against the Emperor, Sarbarn. I'm sure you are aware of the punishment for treason against the Empire."

She pursed her lips. Now that was the third Anakin through and through, the one that now called himself Vader.

"I mean no harm nor any ill will toward the Empire, but… Surely, Lord Vader, you see it? You see what _really_ happened on that planet?"

A long moment passed. When Padme realized he wasn't going to make any sort of verbal reply, she pressed on. She knew it was crazy, but she had to know. How was Anakin, her Ani that dreamed of ending _all_ slavery, okay with this?

"They are being forced to work," she said.

"They will be fed and sheltered. It is more than most slaves get," Vader answered.

She was almost taken aback by the immediacy of his reply. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Did you see those dormitories? They looked atrocious."

"You would do well to mind your feelings, Sarbarn."

She clasped her hands in her lap, fisting them tightly together. She shook her head.

"I just don't understand how anyone is okay with this. They took that child from its mother. They are no better than slaves, still."

It happened in an instant. One moment, she was seated, and in the next, she was pulled upward and slammed against the closed door of the cockpit. She was suspended above the floor, just enough so that her toes could not touch, and that familiar invisible hand was at her throat again. Vader, through all of it, had only lifted a single hand.

She saw it again. The yellow eyes surrounded by familiar golden curls. The outstretched hand. She could feel her own fingers clawing at the nothing that was crushing her windpipe. Tears were in her eyes then, and they were forming now. She could almost feel the words she had tried to breathe before, that simple confession, welling up. She managed to stop, some part of her aware of what she looked like now—who she really was to him in this body. Behind her, the door opened, and the invisible hand shoved her through, releasing her to crumple to the floor on the other side. The door slid shut, and she knew that she had outstayed her welcome. The fact that she wasn't dead was nothing short of a miracle.

Had she touched a nerve? Has she made him feel the way he once had? Had she made him think of Shmi? She, herself, felt stripped raw as a hot tear rolled down her cheek.

"Ma'am?" a voice, filtered through a helmet, asked.

She turned her head, seeing an outstretched stormtrooper hand. She accepted it as the soldier pulled her to her feet. She thanked him without looking at him and returned to her too small quarters for the rest of the flight. They landed on Mustafar forty-five standard minutes later. She waited an extra moment in her room before leaving. She saw only the sweep of Vader's cape as he stalked up the landing pad to the entrance of Dark Monolith—and presumably to his private residence. She rushed to her own quarters, head down, as she relived the last few moments of her life—and the last moments she could remember of her previous life.

She had much to consider, and she had much that she perhaps had to come to terms with. Like, maybe, this was a fruitless mission. Maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong. Maybe her Anakin really was gone, forever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Her finger hovered over the "send" icon on her HoloReader as she bit her bottom lip. Her stomach was turning and gurgling, and it had nothing to do with food or lack thereof. Written before her was her glowing appraisal of what the Empire had done for those slaves. She carefully avoided any mentions of the physicality of the dormitories or factories… and worst of all, she had made it sound like the separation of the children was one hundred percent consented by both parents and children. She closed her eyes and forced a breath out of her nose.

She hit "send." Now, Kinlie would read it over, get the right people's approval—which wouldn't be hard. It was positively full of happy things. She tossed her HoloReader to the foot of her bed, leaning her head against the backboard. Was this really her destiny? Being a sycophant to a psychopath's ego, all so she could get her husband to see what she—and most other people—already saw? That this Empire was evil, pure and simple.

Her mind was chaos, and it wasn't going to get any better by sitting here sulking. She glanced toward the singular slit in the wall that served as a thin window out into the hellish landscape of the planet. Going outdoors to clear her head was completely out of the question. She heaved her soul-weary body off the bed and exited her room. She stalked the halls of the castle in silent contemplation.

Padme had seen nothing of Vader since seeing him exit the shuttle when they had returned to Dark Monolith. She had pretty much figured out that seeing him within the castle was a slim chance, and thus she walked the obsidian halls without fear. She bit her lip, climbing a couple of flights of stairs, stopping a level or two before the beginning of Vader's personal quarters. She leaned on the wall just short of stepping foot out onto a rounded balcony that overlooked a charred hillside. She averted her eyes from the lava flow, instead resting them on the wall opposite her. It made her feel a tad ridiculous, that she couldn't even look out on the landscape—at least, not for long. The memories would simply wreck her, assault her right to her knees. It was at times like this that she found herself remembering—and envying—Anakin's ability to deeply meditate.

She truly needed to meditate on some things now. In so far as she was concerned, her lot was thrown in with the growing rebels who she had agreed to keep abreast of any developing situations. Padme was sure that what she had witnessed on that remote jungle planet counted. She had yet to send any messages, despite taking every precaution to make sure her messages to the rebels would be secure. That troubled her, this hesitation. What was holding her back? But it wasn't the only hesitation.

Her thoughts were constantly at war, thinking of Anakin and Vader. She had come to realize that she was thinking of them as two completely separate beings. The things she had seen Vader do, had read about him doing, were things that Anakin would never do… or, if he did, would torture him. Slaves. Anakin used to tell her of his dreams of ending all slavery, everywhere. It was one of the things she had loved most about him. He had believed, with all his being, that all peoples should be free. But then, the situation of the workers on that planet… all he had done was watched. And when she had pressed him on the matter. Her hand raised to her throat, her memories mixing and melding until she was thinking of both her very last day and that one in the cockpit. She sighed. She lifted her eyes to the high ceiling, and she put voice to a thought that was plaguing her more and more with each passing day. And she spoke it to the only being she felt it safe enough to do so.

"Oh, Qui-Gon… I might have been wrong. This is impossible. Ani is… I feel like Ani might be gone forever," she whispered.

Her eyes slid shut, and she could feel tears stinging them just under the lids. Then, to her surprise, she heard the old Jedi's voice.

"I don't believe that, Padme. And neither do you, for that matter."

Her eyes flashed open, coming down to rest of the shimmery image of Qui-Gon's Force Ghost. She blinked. He looked as if he had simply walked up to the balcony from the other side of the hall, instead of spontaneously appearing from beyond the grave. She shook her head.

"I became queen of my planet when I was but a child. I saved it from an all-out war during that time. I represented it in the Senate. But this, Qui-Gon, _this_ is the hardest thing I believe I have ever done. That man, the one at the top of this tower… he feels _nothing_ like Anakin to me."

Qui-Gon said nothing as Padme drew a ragged breath, battling her tears. Once she was confident she could keep the waver out of her voice, she continued.

"He basically relocated slaves. Slaves! He just watched as a mother and child were forcibly separated. The Anakin I knew would have never done that. He would have cut down that solider before he would've let that happen. But not Vader. He's completely foreign to me."

The ghost nodded. "I understand your distress. Truly, I do. You must remember, however, that while it feels as if you took a long sleep and simply awoke, your husband has had to deal with your loss. It's only been months, just barely short of a year. That wound is still open, and it is one he believes he caused. I would venture a guess that Vader is doing everything in his power to forget Anakin Skywalker. This is exactly what we must prevent."

The Jedi stood serenely still as he made his point, his hands clasped in front of impeccably clean robes. His long, brown-gray hair hanging over either shoulder as his gentle eyes rested on Padme. It made her stomach feel like someone had tied a rope around it. She shook her head.

"It would be easier if I could just _tell_ him who I really was."

At this, Qui-Gon laughed, startling her just a bit. He sighed. "No, it wouldn't be, and you are well aware of that fact. You know it would be dangerous to go around trying to be your old self in Miss Sarbarn's borrowed body. But I know that you have been searching for loopholes in this little arrangement the Force has willed for you."

Padme felt her cheeks color, ever so slightly, abashed at his words. She felt like a child that got caught sneaking dessert before supper was done. Qui-Gon smiled, shaking his head.

"Don't misunderstand me. That is good. You should look for these things. Anything you can use to accomplish your goal. After all, who am I to judge? I've been known to break a few rules now and again. In fact, I'm in the middle of breaking one now."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "It's just overwhelming. Being so close, yet…"

He nodded once more. "I know. But the Will of the Force is rarely wrong. You were brought back for more reasons than simply being Anakin's wife, I'm sure of it. What those reasons are, however, are unclear to me. You are smart, resourceful. I'd wager that you'll figure it out before I will."

A whirring noise, like robotic wheels on the polished flooring, drew her attention towards the inside of the castle. A small silver and red domed droid rolled toward her. She turned back to Qui-Gon, only to find the Jedi Knight vanished. For the best, she supposed. She faced the droid once it stopped before her. It spoke in a voice that was so obviously artificially programmed. It sounded like the auto-read on her HoloReader.

"Lord Vader demands an update on your progress," it said.

She blew a breath out through tight lips. "I have written the article and sent it to Kinlie. It is a glowing tribute to the Empire."

The droid bobbed in what must have been a nod. "I will deliver this message."

It rolled past, heading toward Vader's private quarters. As soon as it was out of sight, she knew what she had to do. She left the balcony, making a direct line toward her room. She had a message of her own to deliver.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Padme drummed the fingers of her left hand on her leg, her right hand holding the secure commlink she had so that she could contact Mothma. She had sent her message about the slaves several standard days ago. She expected a reply, asking maybe for a follow-up—of which she really had none, but still. She had heard nothing.

With no other missions demanding her attention, it was getting increasingly boring in the castle. She had explored every inch—excluding Vader's private quarters, where she was explicitly forbidden to go. She flat refused to go outside unless of the utmost necessity. She was doing good if she could simply gaze out her narrow window without having an episode. She twisted on her bed, shoving the comm away in the little drawer on the bedside table. She wasn't too worried about anyone finding it, since she had given no indications that someone should be suspicious of her. And, even if they did, it was easy enough to claim that she had brought it to stay in contact with Briari.

She scooted down the bed until she was flopped flat on her back, sighing up at the black, jaggedly cut ceiling. If it wasn't for the near constant warmth in the castle—despite various controls set on the wall—Padme would think she was living in a cave. She turned her head toward the window, daring for just a moment to conquer whatever it was that was so crippling to her. Was it merely fear, or was this another restraint put on her by the Force? She caught a glimpse of the lava flowing in the distance, just a glowing red speck to her but it caused her to slam her eyes shut. Images rolled through her mind—her wordless begging, Vader choking her with yellow eyes glowering at her.

Her own eyes opened as she shook her head. A lock of red hair flicked over her shoulder, causing her to jump for a moment. It had been nearly three months, perhaps more, since she had awoken in Triana's body. She would have thought that she would be used to seeing another's face in the mirror or catching sight of flaming hair out of the corner of her eyes. For the most part, she was, but, in these quiet little moments, it was still startling. She huffed, turning away from the window.

Her conversation with Qui-Gon loomed over her like a sword held by a thread. Vader. That's how she was beginning to think of this man who owned this castle, who watched so dispassionately as slaves were separated from their families. Not as her former husband, the Jedi Knight, but as the Sith Lord he acted as now. Qui-Gon had been so confident in telling her that she didn't believe her own words, about Anakin perhaps being too far gone. But… with each passing moment, each horrible re-living of him choking her, of that mother and child crying and reaching for one another, she believed in Anakin Skywalker less and Darth Vader more.

He had choked her on her last day, she remembered that much. She could remember him shouting something at her a moment before, but not the exact words. And for the life of her, she couldn't remember why he was so angry with her… or why he wasn't thinking of their child.

Her hand moved absently to her belly, her mind drifting to the mysterious fate of their unborn child. Qui-Gon knew something more had happened; she was certain of it. It was more than the child dying… but what?

Or maybe, her more pessimistic side argued, the dead Knight knew that if she faced the fact of her husband being responsible for the death of their child… maybe she would give up this fool's errand of bringing him back to the light.

"Where are you?" she whispered as she pressed her hand into her soft middle.

A ravenous growl answered her. She had spent all day—and most of the day before that, and the day before that—in her room. She had barely eaten at all. She sat up, swinging her slipper-ed feet to the floor. Her stomach rumbled again. It would do no one any good if she made herself weak with hunger. She stood, steeled herself, and exited the bedroom. She made it two steps out into the hallway before she paused. It had been so long since she had gone any farther than the fresher that she had to stop and re-evaluate herself.

She turned to the right, almost positive that the kitchens had been that way. The doors to all the rooms she passed were closed, so no hints were to be given about whether she was going in the right direction or not. She finally stopped in front of a pair of large—black, of course—double doors. She tapped her shoe, the move barely making a sound even in the emptiness of the hall. She vaguely remembered thinking that the doors to the kitchen had seemed awful grand to have only gone to a kitchen. Had they really been _this_ grand? Shrugging, she grasped the two large handles and pulled.

As soon as she looked up into the room beyond, she froze. She had been close to the kitchen, but not quite. Instead, she had found what appeared to be a small dining hall—and it wasn't empty. A short ebony table with matching chairs set all around it was in the center of the room. The table was laden with several foods, which all smelled wonderful and caused her stomach to rumble wantonly for them. A droid bustled back and forth, straightening plates and adjusting flatware. But, the thing that gave her greatest pause was that seated on the opposite end of the table was none other than Vader himself.

"Uh," she stumbled. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

She made to back out of the room when Vader said, "Sarbarn."

She froze once more. Vader gestured to the seat opposite his, on the other end of the table.

"I was going to have you summoned. My droids tell me you have not eaten for several days. Is this correct?"

Padme slowly entered more fully into the room. She stopped when she was standing beside the chair Vader had gestured to, shrugging.

"I suppose I… lost track of time?"

"Sit. Eat."

Seemingly on its own, her chair slid back far enough for her to get into it. She fought down a gulp and nodded, settling into the chair. It slid back into place, and she felt very much like she was being locked into place. The droid—a silver droid, made like a mish-mash between a protocol droid and a serving droid—moved down toward her, taking her plate. It began to fill it with the various foods.

"You are of no use to the Empire if you do not eat," Vader said, his head turning to the HoloReader he held in his right hand.

She noticed—as a steaming pile of wonderful smelling food was set before her—that Vader's own place setting was empty. It troubled her a bit, as she remembered once again the appetite that Anakin had had. Perhaps she was simply not catching him at the right time? She shoved the thought from her mind, aware that both Vader and the droid were staring at her. She lifted her fork, stabbing at a piece of fruit on her plate. She lifted it, taking a small nibble, and it was only then that she felt the weight of the stares lift off her. Her stomach, suddenly remembering how ravenous it was, urged her to shove the whole piece of fruit in her mouth, but she held back. She awkwardly picked at the other pieces of food before her, taking the smallest of bites here and there. For the longest moment, there was no sound in the room save for the droid's whirring joints as it moved, the noise of her fork whenever it struck the plate, and Vader's ceaseless, even breathing. Qui-Gon's reminder to get closer to her husband rang through her head—if anything of her husband was even still there. Gently, she cleared her throat.

"Lord Vader, is there any news of when our next mission might be?" she asked.

Slowly, Vader turned from his HoloReader to face her once more. "No. There has been no word on any further missions. Likely, Miss Sarbarn, you would receive a mission file same time as I."

"Oh," she said, deflated. "Right. My apologies."

He said nothing more, the sound of his respirator filling the void between them. She picked at another piece of food, placing it in her mouth to cover the sigh she so badly wanted to let loose. Anakin had definitely been easier to speak to, without a doubt. She missed their easy conversations, asking about each other's work and missions—even though it was during such an awful time as The Clone Wars. She even missed him prattling on about...

She eyed the HoloReader in his hand as an idea bloomed into life. She took another bite of her food, trying to look casual.

"I was wondering, Lord Vader, if you wouldn't have the results of the podracing events on Tatooine? My HoloReader is work issued, thus very limited in what I can access personally."

"I didn't take you for a gambler, Sarbarn," Vader rumbled, not bothering to look up from his Reader.

"Oh, I'm not," she stated quickly. "But I—"

She paused. Could she get away with what she was going to attempt next? It had been successful on the trip here to Mustafar, but then she had been alone in her quarters. She had to try, though, if her divine mission stood any chance of working. She shrugged, to cover the pause.

"I knew someone, once, who was… who liked the races. I took an interest on their behalf. But, this other person, I haven't… I haven't heard from them since I awoke from my coma. I still think of them whenever I check up on the races."

She had to work hard to stamp down the triumphant smile that threaten to break her cool demeanor. She had done it! She had gotten out relevant facts about herself without the Force intervening to stop her! And she had done so in front of Vader—Anakin! She almost wanted to dance, she was so happy. She had to stamp down all those feelings, though, lest she look crazy. So she held herself stiffly in her chair, one hand in her lap and the other idly holding her fork over her plate. For a long moment, Vader didn't say anything. She was beginning to lose her momentary joy. But then—

"The Hutt's racer took the win on the latest race. It was no contest," he said, again without looking at her.

She smiled, overjoyed to have made such progress—no matter how small. "Thank you, Lord Vader."

Silence fell between them once more, as Padme took another bite. Her mind scrambled, trying to think of anything else she could speak of using her newfound working loophole. She couldn't afford to lose whatever small ground she had gained by falling suddenly mute. Thankfully, however, Vader beat her to the punch.

"I was unaware of your previous medical status," he noted.

She nodded, her heart thundering in her chest. The reasons for such were numerous, but likely the man across the table from her would take it as her nervousness in speaking of such a potentially traumatizing event in her life—should he use the Force to notice such a thing.

"Yes. I, uh, was in a transport accident of some kind, just before the end of the Clone Wars, I believe? I—" she paused, considering. This was another chance, another moment where she could inject some of the truth of her situation into what she was saying. "I don't remember much of what happened, honestly. Just… moments, leading up to whenever I lost consciousness. The doctors and medidroids believe I suffered a type of amnesia due to my injuries. I often feel like… if I could just remember…"

She let the sentence hang, and Vader did not press for any more details. Instead, he turned back to his HoloReader, and her to her meal. Her mind swirled with images from what she supposed had to be her final day alive, and she found her appetite lacking. She began to scoot the food around the plate, rather than actually spearing it. She faded into the simplicity of the movement as she tried to piece together what she remembered, trying to solve any number of her own personal mysteries. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Vader addressed her again.

"You should be keeping abreast of events on Coruscant, since you are still a Liaison," Vader noted.

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Vader. I checked my usual rumor mills this morning. Nothing of note on the HoloNet about you, the Emperor, or any officials."

"Indeed," he said, finally laying the Reader down. "There's nothing but celebrity gossip and the official announcement of Organa's new daughter."

The fork made such a loud clatter when it fell from her hand that it reverberated across the room. She could feel Vader's masked eyes on her, but she froze. Her heart began that thudding beat again, and this time her breathing seemed to join in time.

"Uh, announcement… I was, um, unaware that Senator Organa and his wife were expecting," she murmured.

Vader sat stock still as he replied, "Adoption, I believe."

Her mouth felt as dry as a Tatooine desert. She forced herself to blink. "Was there… was there any mention of the girl's name?"

Vader's gaze seemed to be drilling into her very soul. "No, it was not given. I believe the report stated that it would be announced in a separate ceremony, as per Alderaan's customs."

Her head swam, and her vision blurred. Before she even realized what she was doing, she shoved herself to her feet. She muttered some excuse about not feeling well and hurried from the room. She forced her pace to remain even, her eyes locked on the ebony and eternally warm floor. She held out until she was halfway to her quarters before she finally broke into a run. She jerked the door open to her room, slamming it behind her, and moved until she had thrown herself across the bed.

Then, and only then, did she let the sobs come.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

She had herself well under control by the time the chiming rang, alerting her to a visitor. She sat with her back against the headboard of her bed, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. She knew that the curtained half-canopy held her face in shadow, and it was all for the better. She lifted her heavy eyes to the door, only briefly considering who could be beyond it. She called for the visitor to enter.

Not to her surprise, a droid—the same one from the dining room—entered, joints emitting a soft hydraulic sound as it moved.

"Miss Sarbarn, I have been sent by Lord Vader to inform you that he has left for a mission that does not require your services," the droid, his silver casing glinting from the only source of light in the room—the thin sliver coming through her window.

Padme's stomach rumbled, and it had nothing to do with hunger. If Vader was gone on a mission without her, it could only mean that it was the type that he and Palpatine had mentioned when she first received this assignment. In turn, that meant something as well. People on said mission, undoubtedly, were going to die. She felt sick, her mind and stomach churning. How did it come to this? How did life get to this point? First, the slaves, and now the wonton taking of life… Oh, her Anakin… how did he fall so far? How could she not have seen it? Had she excused too much in their relationship?

Was this all her fault?

"Miss Sarbarn, my master also bid me to inquire as to your health. Are you well?" the droid said, interrupting her grim thoughts.

She blinked and had to bite back the laugh bubbling up in her throat. That Vader would ever ask if someone was okay was baffling and hilarious to her. But the laugh died easily enough when she realized that she was supposed to be thinking of this man as her Anakin and trying to save him. Her fingers dug into the pillow she still held. She felt hot tears springing back into her eyes, and she forced herself to look away from the droid.

"Yes. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all."

It was an obvious lie. But the droid thanked her nonetheless, leaving. She felt a tear roll down her cheek. She silently cursed herself for her lack of control. She had been stronger than this, in her other body. But, then again, she had also not suffered the losses she had suffered since. She bit at her bottom lip, her fingers beginning to cramp from gripping the pillow so hard. She let a sob escape as she tossed the pillow away, whirling to put her feet on the floor.

"This isn't fair," she growled to the stone below. "It isn't _fair._ Haven't I been through _enough_?"

Some part of her didn't like the way she felt at the moment, so hateful toward her old friend and his new, lovely family. Padme knew that Bail and his wife had been trying, for years, to produce a child but to no avail. But the emptiness in her womb gnawed at her.

She and Anakin had decided not to seek any information out about the status of their baby, beyond its health. A torrent of rage roared inside of her. She didn't know. She couldn't remember her last moments, so she didn't know what happened to her child. And because of this choice, she never knew its gender. For all Padme knew, this new infant girl could _be_ her lost child. The way things were going, she might never know.

She shoved herself to her feet and yelled to the ceiling. "It's not _fair_ , Qui-Gon! It's too much! This whole divine mission is Hell! What could I have possibly done to deserve this?"

She felt heat in her face, and she knew she had to be red in the face. She panted, her hands curled into fists at her sides, and waited for the dead Jedi to answer. Instead, after a moment, her only answer was the beep that informed her that someone was trying to contact her via commlink.

Padme loosed a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and wiped the tears from her face. She turned, pulled the comm out of the drawer, and answered the call. A palm-sized hologram of Mon Mothma appeared.

"Triana, I received your information about the slaves and the factory. It took us a bit to confirm it, but we have. Excellent work," Mothma said, though her face was grim.

Appropriately so, Padme thought. She nodded. "Thank you. I hope the information will be useful to you."

"It already has been. It's confirmed something that we have all thought true for a bit now. It's made our next course of action clear. In fact, we've already made arrangements to take care of it."

Padme arched a brow at the hologram. "I don't understand, Mothma. What exactly is this next move?"

"Well, we've suspected for a while that the real hold that Emperor has on this galaxy is his most powerful agent. It has been, um, suggested that, without him, the Emperor might be at a slight disadvantage, given the vastness of this Empire. So, we have dispatched someone to take care of this Vader problem."

Padme sunk to her bed, eyes wide. "No. No, Mon Mothma, you can't."

Now it was Mothma's turn to arch a brow. "Why not, Miss Sarbarn?"

Padme shook her head, and the feeling overwhelming her felt foreign to her after all this time. She realized, then, that Qui-Gon might be right. She didn't want anything to happen to Anakin… but there was another feeling there too. It was this one that she argued.

"It can't be done. He's too powerful. Unless you have a Jedi being sent after him, the chances of your solution working are zero. Even with a Jedi, it would be slim."

Mothma let out a humorless chuckle. "He's not immortal, Sarbarn. I know he must seem frightening to you, especially being in such close proximity to him, but he can be hurt. It's happened before."

"I know that, but that doesn't mean that he's not the most powerful killer in the galaxy. No one you could send will be able to do this. They will die, Mothma."

Mothma shook her head. "It's been done, Sarbarn. Be safe, Triana. I suspect you'll be home soon."

With that, the transmission ended, leaving Padme with a gaping mouth. Terrible things were going to happen very soon, but what frightened her the most is that she didn't know who would get the worst of it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Vader was gone for three standard days by the time Padme figured out the rotation of the guard on his personal keep. After being gone a week with no word being sent for her to join him, she was still no closer to entering his personal wing. She tried every trick she had ever learned, both legitimate and not. She only had about ten minutes between guard shifts—a generous amount, given the level of security that Dark Monolith must contain. Between her attempts to infiltrate Vader's wing, she spent her time scouring the HoloNet for anything of note. Nothing of importance there either.

She had no human contact. She had no idea where Vanee kept himself, as she had yet to encounter him inside the castle. Droids were her only constant companions, always arriving with food, spare linens, clothing, and asking if there was anything else she required. Every time she had to fight her eyeroll, the thought, "Yeah, all the information you have on the Empire and Darth Vader's current mission" always dancing through her mind before she ultimately thanked them with no further instructions but dismissal.

Mon Mothma had made no more attempts to contact her, and Padme was left wondering whether Vader's would-be assassin had struck yet or not. Again, there had been nothing of it on the Net. Padme knew better than to attempt to contact Mothma. She would start to look like a sympathizer with the Empire if she tried again, independently, to argue out of Vader's assassination. It was something she most certainly was not, but her Force-damned tongue tying itself up whenever she tried to convey the truth of her existence wouldn't help the situation either.

So she explored Dark Monolith a little more—deeper than she would have dared with Vader's watchful eye on her. She managed to find a few offices, get into a few files. Still, it was nothing important. She still didn't know where Vader went or when he would be back.

Or when the assassin would strike.

In an act of desperation, she had even called out to Qui-Gon. Perhaps, given the fact that he was dead and had the whole of the living Force to move around in, he could tell her where Vader had gone. Alas, like the previous time she had called, she got no answer. Maybe she had hurt his feelings. Honestly, though, she didn't care. It wasn't her fault that the Force had decided to make things as horribly difficult for her as it had. A week passed with this nothingness of information, and Padme found herself in between states of being where she was either pissed off or felt as if she might go mad.

It was afternoon one day precisely after the conclusion of a week of Vader being on this mission. Padme was finishing her mid-day meal in her room, racking her brain for any new ideas for retrieving the information she so desperately craved. If that assassin attacked Vader… she knew it would never succeed. And, in the darkest part of her heart, she suspected that perhaps that Mothma was right. With Darth Vader out of the picture, the Emperor's hold on his Empire was tenuous. But that was when images of Anakin, with his bright smile and dazzling blue eyes would splash across her mind. No, Vader had to live, so that Anakin could live again.

The tone announcing a visitor interrupted her thoughts. She called out the invitation to enter, and a small droid—which would come only to about Padme's waist—rolled into the room.

"Miss, Lord Vader has returned. He requests your presence on the landing platform."

Padme was on her feet before she had time to take in the entire statement. He wanted her out there? Immediately, her hands began to shake, and her knees felt weak. She could hear her own voice in her mind, her old voice, calling out for Anakin to stop. She put a hand over her eyes, shaking her head.

She was more than this. She was more than her death. She could face this down, for the good of everyone. Vader had to be alerted to the possibility of an assassin, just in case. After all, Mothma had made one other good point. Vader wasn't immortal. Padme wasn't sure how much his suit dampened his abilities either. She would wager "not much" but it was better to be safe than sorry. She nodded at the little red and blue droid—which looked like an odd mix between humanoid and astromech.

"Lead on," she ordered.

The droid turned, and she followed it out of the room. It led her to the front doors of Dark Monolith, which stood open. She narrowed her eyes at this. The doors were rarely open, only doing so if someone was in the process of leaving or arriving—and not a moment too soon. Vader couldn't risk garnering the reputation for being hospitable, after all, she laughed to herself. The laugh was more to ward off the pit that was forming in her stomach. The droid continued out the doors, and she shook herself of the thoughts. After all, if Vader had sent for her, perhaps they were open for her.

They were through the doors and near the end of the railed walkway that opened up to the larger landing platform when she paused. She found that her hands shook, and she shoved them into the folds of her skirts until she could steady them. Then, lifting her eyes, she blinked at the odd sight before her. A single passenger ship was on the platform—she didn't recognize its manufacturing origin just by looking at its body. Vader had left in a passenger vessel, much like the one she and him had taken to the jungle planet. She shook her head, looking to the droid that had rolled out a little farther ahead of her.

"That's not Vader's ship," she said. "What's going on?"

The droid turned to face her, and she knew that if it had had working eye features, it would've slowly blinked at her, like it was waking up from a drug-induced sleep. Alarms rang in her mind. She moved, moments away from whirling and re-entering Dark Monolith, when she felt the hard barrel of a blaster press into the small of her back.

"You are going to take me to Vader. No sudden movements."

The voice was male, deep—but not as much as the vocoder that provided Vader's voice. This one was all natural, and she could detect no accent that she was familiar with. She pursed her lips as the blaster dug into her back some more, clearly urging her to move.

"Vader's not here," she spoke evenly. "I know who sent you. I'm telling you now, from experience: leave. Just go."

The barrel jabbed painfully into her back, and she allowed only the smallest of twitches to show her discomfort.

"I am loyal to the Republic, and for the good of it, Vader must die. I don't care who I have to take out with him."

She shook her head. "I'm Triana Sarbarn. Do you recognize my name?"

Again, another jab. "I don't _care_ who I take out with him."

Padme had to suppress a sigh. She understood now why anyone would take a job to kill Darth Vader himself. This was personal for him. That made for the worst kind of assassin. There would be no talking sense into him. She didn't doubt him, either, when he said he didn't care. This left her with only course of action. Escape.

She whirled suddenly, palm out, knocking the blaster from the surprised assassin's hand. It flew out of his grip, skidding along the walkway just to stop shy of sliding under the sparse railing into the lava. The assassin appeared human, and was dressed head to toe in a thin, rust-red armor. A cloth mask was tied over his mouth and nose, and a low helmet left just enough room for his dark eyes to peer out at the world. Padme ducked, trying to get past him, but he recovered quickly.

He threw a right-hook that just missed Padme's nose—but still made her see stars bursting in her vision. She sprawled back, catching the railing to prevent falling completely to the metal landing. She could hear the attacker walking away from her—probably going for his blaster. She shook her head, tightening her grip on the railing and planting her feet. She worked up a small run, using the momentum to lift her feet off the ground and place them squarely in the assassin's back. He fell forward, his waist catching the railing. Padme didn't wait to see if he caught his balance. She rushed past him, back inside Dark Monolith.

She needed two things immediately: a safe place and a weapon. She had neither. Weapons had been routinely kept from her for security reasons, she supposed—probably to prevent an assassination attempt against Vader. That thought was almost laughable. Padme also knew that the safest place in the castle would be Vader's keep, but she knew she would never mount the stairs in time, nor would she be able to open the doors if the guards were in the middle of a shift change. She had no idea what time it was.

She could hear another pair of footfalls joining hers on the metal flooring. The bottom level of Dark Monolith was pretty straightforward, leading in to a receiving room and out to the other landing pad. _That_ was her destination. Maybe there would be something, anything—maybe even a shuttle—that could aid her. But she had to make herself a harder target than this. The bottom floor was decorated with a bunch of tiny halls that twisted and turned, but ultimately led to the same place. She darted down one, then another, then one more. She had to lose the assassin, to confuse him. That was her best chance.

After running down another couple of halls, she could no longer hear the other pair of feet. Confident that she had lost her attacker, she dashed into the receiving room. Suddenly, she skidded to a halt, just as she knocked bodily into the waiting assassin. He shoved her to the floor, leveling his retrieved blaster at her.

"I downloaded the floor plan to this place before I took this mission. I'm not stupid. But you, on the other hand…"

She could see his finger beginning to tighten on the trigger. She kicked out and up, knocking his aim wide as he fired. A searing pain exploded on her side, and she knew that she had been hit. She didn't dare take her eyes off him to check the seriousness of the wound, instead kicking out again to catch him in the knee. She then swept her leg through his to bring him tumbling to the ground beside her.

She turned to her stomach and pushed up with her hands, trying to stand. An explosion of fresh pain had her crying out and falling back to the floor. She began to pull herself along, desperate to get away. She felt a hand wrap around her ankle.

And that's when she heard it. That familiar, steady rhythm of ceaseless, mechanized breathing. It was followed immediately by the sound of an igniting lightsaber. Padme turned to look at the would-be assassin just as his head rolled away from his shoulders. Now, she gazed upward at the black, imposing figure of Darth Vader—made all the more so by the glow of his red lightsaber against his ebony armor. Another surge of pain rushed through her body, and her world went black.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- This fic's cover art was done by the lovely, LadySugarQuill, from AO3. She did one other piece for this story, and it is just as lovely!**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

Groaning, Padme awoke. She moved her body, one of her sides feeling a little tender. It was then that it all came screaming back to her—the assassin, the wide shot, and Vader. She put a hand to her face, running it down—and simultaneously reaffirming that she was still in her "new" body. She was, of course. The sickly-sweet smell of medical bacta wafted to her nostrils, and she grimaced. She hadn't had to have bacta administered to her since… since Geonosis. She moved again, and she heard an all-too familiar creak of a hospital bed. She moved to put her weight on her elbows, gingerly pushing herself into a sitting position.

She was in a medical bay. Vaguely, she remembered encountering one in her exploration of Dark Monolith. Her red hair was falling, slightly matted, over one shoulder. She didn't remember being brought here and wondered who had carried her. In the front of the room, watching monitors, stood a couple of blue and black medical droids. One heard her movement on the hard, industrial-designed bed. It turned, stared at her with its dark sockets, and exited the room through the doors across from the foot of her bed. The other droid bustled over to her, barking commands as if it were a living doctor. She obeyed as it checked her reflexes and her freshly closed wound. The shot had grazed her ribs, the droid informed her. It was nothing serious, but a definite cause for a lot of pain. She nodded, thanking it.

The doors opened, and the other medidroid returned with Vader in tow. Padme sat a little straighter as Vader stopped a foot or so from the end of her bed. He fixed the globes of his mask upon her, his breathing drowning out the noise of the rest of the machines in the room.

"The droid that called you out to the landing bay had been reprogramed by my would-be assassin to lead someone out there. It was meant to be his way in, I surmise. This droid also informed me that you offered up no additional information about my personage, save to say that I was not on-planet. Giving any information you had on me, given your status as Liaison, might have spared your life. Why did you not do so?"

Padme had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Was he honestly asking her why she didn't sell him out to save her own skin? Was that how her Ani saw the world now? Eat or be eaten? It broke her heart all over again. He had been a beacon of hope for so many, a hero of the Wars. This wasn't what he deserved.

"Honestly, it wouldn't have done me any good. I got the feeling that this was a personal job for him, and that he would be willing to kill anyone who got in his way. Also… it wouldn't have been right. The world shouldn't work like that," she answered completely.

His breathing filled the room, and he said nothing for a long time. The weight of his veiled gaze was still upon her as she stared up at him from her seat in bed. What would he do with this information? Did he even believe her? Finally, he turned, moving toward the room's exit. She pursed her lips. There were a lot of things in this new world that weren't right. By the Force, she was going to set as many as she could right before death came for her again. Starting with this.

"Thank you," she called, causing Vader to pause. He didn't turn as she added, "For saving my life. Thank you."

Again, only his breath. Then, with barely a turn to look over his shoulder, he said, "I merely dispatched an assassin. That is all."

Padme fought down a growl. Stubborn bantha ass. What a wonderful thing it was that he had managed to hold on to _that_ attribute. With a breath, she placed a pleasant smile on her face that she was sure didn't quite meet her eyes.

"And it still saved my life. So I still owe you my thanks. Thank you, Lord Vader."

He still had not turned to face her. It seemed an eternity was passing while he stood in that doorway, facing the exit. Finally, though, he turned.

"Droids. Leave us," he ordered.

Without hesitation, the two medidroids did that. Padme stiffened. Surely, he wasn't _that_ quick to anger now, was he? The droids were out the doors in moments. The doors slid shut with a soft hydraulic hiss behind them, and Vader advanced a couple of steps back toward Padme.

"Before my departure, I sent a droid to check on your health. You told it that you were well. I need to know the truth of this, Sarbarn. I need to know if you are going to be a liability on missions."

It had been a weak lie, but she had honestly never expected Vader to question it. Her mind exploded in a whirlwind of "what ifs." Was there more to this question? Did he care? Or was this simply what he had said, about her being a possible liability on his missions? This might be the closest anyone had ever gotten to having Darth Vader ask them if they were okay. Then, of course, there was the opportunity this presented. She could poke and prod and test her little loophole a little more. She sat ramrod straight in the bed, locking eyes with his mask. She took a deep breath and jumped blindly into the unknown.

"I was pregnant," she said, clearly, with no hesitation. She didn't stop, plowing ahead on her story. "Before my… coma. I was pregnant. Then, I woke up… and I wasn't. No one will tell me what happened. I don't know why. Maybe they think it will be better for me, if I don't know. Especially given the… amnesia about the event. I should have a child, but I don't. I don't even know what the gender was. I was going to name her Leia, if it had been a girl."

Sadness, deep and almost all-consuming, washed over her. It stamped out any of the little bit of triumph she felt over having successfully said all these things without the restrictions that the Force had laid upon her. She could feel her muscles tightening under skin as she struggled to keep the greater reaction to her emotions in check. She watched Vader, who in turn appeared to be watching her.

"Leia. It means 'divine flowers' in the old language of the Naboo, does it not?" he asked.

Hot tears filled Padme's eyes, and it took all of her control to keep them from spilling over. He _remembered_. She had told him that name almost immediately after telling him that she was pregnant, as soon as they had been well and truly alone. She had told him what it meant, and how beautiful she had thought it was. He had shared his choice for a boy's name, Luke—which meant, simply, "light." But he _remembered_. Her hearted thudded against her chest, and she had to clasp her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. She nodded.

"Yes. That's right."

He stared at her again, that damnable mask making reading his face an impossibility. When he spoke again, his vocoder kept his tones even, despite the weight of his words.

"It would have been a beautiful name."

He said nothing else, leaving. The droids filed in afterwards, and Padme sat on the bed, fighting tears. They moved all about her, checking her wound, her vitals. After several minutes, they pronounced her well enough to move back to her quarters. They escorted her there, standing on either side of her on the stairs. They shut the door of her room behind them as they left, and Padme let out a sob that was half-happy, half not.

He _remembered_.

It was a joyous thing. It was heartbreaking. More importantly, it spoke to her all she had ever needed to know about her divine mission. On the bedside table, her HoloReader chimed. She went to it, finding a new file with new orders. She would be leaving in the morning on a mission with Vader. She smiled.

Somehow, this time, it didn't seem so terrible.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen:**

It wasn't a swamp, like the previous mission the two had gone on together. But it was still a dense, mucky forest—due to the near-monsoon level rains pouring down on them. Padme held her HoloReader close to her body, the dark cloak she wore over an otherwise simple dress getting more and more drenched the more it rained—and thus, more and more useless. She could feel the hood of her cloak sticking to the sides of her head, which helped to dull the natural roaring noise the combination of winds and rain made. Vader stood next to her, seemingly unperturbed by the onslaught of water. They were overseeing a relocation, taking a small village of locals from the nearly flooded foothills to the newly constructed village up higher on the mountain they now occupied. It was a better mission than the last—no crying mothers or children to make Padme feel wretched about her state of inactivity. She lifted her Reader, daring to type a few notes before the water became too much for the device's sensitive screen. Pressing the screen back against her chest, she let out a small sigh, inaudible for the rain. She fanned herself a bit with her free hand. The rain was chilly, being moved by the cool winds that came down from the mountain's peak, but she felt hot. She might even be sweating, but just couldn't tell the difference.

A few Stormtroopers lined the pathway up the mountain, leading up a handful of stragglers—elderly, a couple of pregnant women—up to the village. Padme inched down the pathway, curious about the water level in these people's old village. She was practically giddy that the Empire could be doing such a wonderful thing for these people, utterly shocked by it… until she saw it. There, just above the base of the mountain, carefully blocked from the water by some well-placed boulders, were entrances to what appeared to be mines. Padme shook her head, turning to return to her place by Vader's side. She fanned herself again, feeling a droplet of something—she was almost positive that it was, in fact, sweat this time—roll down her left temple.

"What were those entrances in the foothills? They looked like they could be shelters of some kind," she said, batting too-wide eyes up at the Sith Lord.

Padme could never pull off an "innocent" look, for some reason in her old body. She had a feeling that "Triana" might be better at it. However, Vader didn't even turn toward her when he answered.

"They are duralium mines."

Padme had to fight rolling her eyes. Instead, she asked, "You don't think anybody went there, for safety?"

"Unlikely. It appeared as if they had barely begun using it," Vader replied.

Well, that explained a lot. So much for the Empire's one good deed. Padme blew a breath out, huffing quietly. At least some good had come of the Empire's greed for the useful substance. Of course, using her and the article she was going to have to write, the Emperor was probably hoping to use this as a positive PR stunt. Force, she hated all of this. She mopped a hand over her face, noticing that it felt a little warm—but, then again, she was wrapped in a heavy cloak. A stormtrooper ascended the pathway behind the last few, stopping before Vader.

"Village is clear, my lord," he said, his voice filtered through the radio in his white and black helmet.

"Excellent, commander. The Emperor will be pleased with the time we've made here."

The trooper saluted him with a quick, "sir." He continued up the path, and Vader fell into step beside him. Padme walked a pace or two behind.

Her head was throbbing. It was making her feel a little fuzzy around the edges, and she felt like a furnace underneath her cloak and dress. Perhaps she was coming down with something? The group trudged up the incline, and Padme's food caught on a small rock. She stumbled but didn't fall. She noticed that Vader barely looked over his shoulder at her, but the pace of the group didn't slow.

Something was wrong, and it was getting worse by the minute. They reached the top of the path, where it plateaued out to the area where the new village had been constructed. She tried to focus on the huts, to take note of their quality, but her eyes hurt. Her limbs felt heavy, and it seemed quite a task just to lift her head to acknowledge the arriving, small regiment of Imperials landing to aid with the final steps of the relocation. The rain was falling even harder, though that hardly seemed possible. It felt like a million hammers hitting down upon her skin. Her stomach was churning, and for a moment, she felt as though she might be sick.

"Ah," she cried, her legs giving way.

She barely felt the impact with the ground. Her mind and vision were blurred, each swimming in and out of focus. She writhed on the muddy ground, moaning and groaning. She was aware of hands on her, and of being lifted. In a moment, the rain was gone, and she was being laid down on a thin bed. But where was she? Hands—the same ones or different, she couldn't tell—pressed her down until she was laying flat against the bed. Her vision swam suddenly back into focus, and she could see Vader standing before her, surrounded by droids and a woman she didn't recognize. She was dressed similarly to those of the village, but that didn't make sense. Why would a village woman be here?

Her mind became unfocused again as a surge of heat and pain overwhelmed her. She moaned. In her mind she begged, _No, not Mustafar. Not again_. But she wasn't on Mustafar, was she? Where was she? Things were getting harder to remember, harder to discern. There were people, figures that were too blurred in her sight, moving about her. She could hear herself crying out, but something about that seemed wrong. It was a different voice. But wasn't it just _her_ voice? There were other sounds too, other cries. In a moment, she realized that the other cries were that of an infant. She sobbed, reaching out.

She tried to speak, tried to ask for her child. She had managed the child's name, of that much she was certain. But everything else was pain. Something was certainly wrong. Her throat no longer hurt from the damage caused to her on Mustafar, but she felt… drained. And even that wasn't quite right. It felt like everything she was, her life, was being drained away from her, syphoned away to places unknown. She tried to fight it, but she found that her opponent was too strong. She was fading.

Her vision cleared, all but around the edges. It was like she was looking at the world through fogged glass. But she could see him, clear as day, just as he always had been. A mane of golden curls with his bright blue eyes smiling down at her. Her husband. She reached for him.

"Ani… Oh, Anakin. How I've _missed_ you. I love you. I tried… I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you on that day. Oh, why didn't you listen? Anakin, please…"

Was it a dream? She wasn't sure. Was she speaking? In some distant part of her mind, she was aware of a pinch somewhere on her arm. She was fading again, but this time, more pleasantly.

"Anakin…" she whispered before her world faded to black for the second time in as many days.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen:**

When the world returned to her, Padme's initial thought was that she was sick and tired of passing out. She was sure she had never passed out so many times in her other life. She moved, gingerly, aware that she had to be on some sort of bed. It creaked and wrinkled, and as she put out a hand, she found that the left side of it had a railing. It felt very familiar to her, and as the haze of her fogged mind cleared, she realized where she had been in a similar bed before. The hospital. Her eyes flew open as she flung herself up into a seated position. She blinked, forcing herself to focus and take in her surroundings. The first thing she registered was the heat. While it wasn't exactly overpowering, it was much warmer than the hospital had ever gotten. She took several deep breaths, looking around.

She was in a room that was done entirely in black. A glance upward showed her a steeped ceiling that was all-too recognizable to her. She was back on Mustafar, in Dark Monolith. She had absolutely no recollection of getting there. In fact, the last thing she remembered was a pinching feeling in her left arm. Turning to look at said arm, she found an IV embedded in the crook of it. She couldn't smell the usual accompanying sickly-sweet smell that bacta had. A further glance about the room revealed that she was also totally alone. A few monitors beeped, but that was it. No droids, no personnel—not that Dark Monolith had many of those that _weren't_ droids—nothing. She ran a hand through her hair, flinging a lock of it over her shoulder. She glanced back at the IV, contemplating for a moment if she should pull it out and leave. After all, the more she looked about, the more she knew she had never been in this room before. This was not the medical bay, just a room set up to act as one. She had almost come to the decision to finally leave when the door slid open, and the hulking ebony figure of Darth Vader entered. He paused, a little farther back from the bed than the last time she had been laid up. And, although Padme was certainly no Jedi, her new body's sensitivity to the Force must have been coming in handy. She could have sworn she felt a steady wave of anger rolling off the Sith Lord.

Probably because she had passed out—again—and forced them to abandon their mission. After assuring him that she _wouldn't_ be a liability. Padme opened her mouth—either to apologize or ask what had happened, she hadn't yet decided—when Vader cut her off.

"You had a reaction to the bacta. It's a one in a billion chance that any being would have an allergy to that particular medical treatment. It seems, however, that you are that being. The medicine woman of that tribe recognized the symptoms, from a case her great grandmother had treated once," Vader explained.

Sensitivity or not, Padme would have been a complete idiot not to realize something was wrong. While she would have never described Vader as a cuddly ball of warmth, ever since the revelation of her pregnancy, he had seemed a touch more civil toward her. That was gone. He spoke now in a clipped manner, as if he had been rushing through that explanation simply to remove a distraction. Her brow furrowed. She wasn't entirely sure, given her particular situation and Triana's station, whether she could question what was wrong. As it turned out, she didn't have to. Vader balled his hands into tight fists, the leather of his gloves creaking and squeaking as he did so.

"How did you know that name?" he growled. The effect of the sound through his vocoder was menacing enough that even Padme flinched.

"What na—"

" _Anakin_ ," he growled, taking a single, lumbering stomp forward. "How do you know _that_ name?"

Padme's eyes widened. "What?"

Her confusion was misread as evasion, and Vader raised a single hand, palm out toward her. She slid back, knocking her pillows to the floor, until she was held ridged against the wall. Her airway was clear, so it was obvious that Vader intended for her to talk, if not move.

" _Tell me_!" he roared.

She reeled. She had said his _name_? His real name? And the Force had allowed it? Suddenly, parts of her allergy-induced hallucinations came back to her. Yes, she had called him Anakin, because she had seen him as such. She had seen the room… seen the room she had died in, if only vaguely. She remembered _it_ , as well, that pull that ended her life—despite her desperate fight. Most miraculously, though, she remembered the other cry in the room… the cry of her child. Tears sprung to her eyes, a joyous wash of emotion threatening to overtake her even in this alarming situation. Her child was _alive_.

"Answer me!"

The gravel in Vader's electronically enhanced voice brought her back to the problem at hand. She looked him right in the eyes of his mask. It was a gamble, the thoughts going through her head now. But, in the end, it was the only way she figured she was going to get out of this alive. Time for honesty.

"It was my husband's name," she said evenly.

Vader pulled back, although not in his hold her on her body. She, meanwhile, was feeling a tad victorious. She had said that with no pause, no imaginary choking on her words. It was time to push the envelope.

"I loved him dearly. Even at the end," she continued.

At this, Vader released his hold, stepping back. He put his back to her, his cape swirling up the tiniest layer of dust on the floor.

"Impossible," he murmured.

"I wore lace at my wedding. The first time I ever told my husband that I loved him was in a situation I thought we were going to die in. On our wedding night, I told him how he gave me a happiness I never thought I was capable of feeling. He was so nervous. He told me he worried over his lack of experience. But I told him, after the first time, that it was wonderful. I didn't lie."

Shock and awe washed over her. It had all come out, clear as a bell. Vader still stood with his back to her, now shaking his head. After a moment, he turned.

"Padme?" he asked.

A smile broke across her face. Tears glistened in her eyes. It was the moment of truth.

"Yes."

She gasped, holding back a sob. He knew, now. He knew the truth. And no damned mystical energy had stopped her. Whatever the rules to this great cosmic game were, she had figured them out. And then she had found, and exploited, the ultimate loophole. Vader took another step back.

"This is impossible," he said again.

"I know things, Ani." Oh, Force, did it feel good to use his real name. She pressed on. "I know intimate things that no one else could know. I know every way you touched me on our wedding night, and every time we were together afterword. I remember every conversation, every stolen kiss. Do you really think anyone else could ever know these things, down to the finest detail?"

He shook his head, clearly struggling. "Palpatine could."

She couldn't help it. She huffed out a laugh. "He's strong, but not omnipotent. Do you truly believe he's _that_ powerful?"

A moment passed in the space of five heartbeats. Then, he crossed the room, stopping by the side of her bed. He took up both her hands in his, holding them tight.

"Padme," he murmured. "Padme, Padme, Padme."

She let the tears roll. She had her husband back. Even if it was just for a moment. She would work to keep him, too. The Force needn't have doubts about that.

#

Palpatine sat, suddenly rigid, on his throne in the city planet of Coruscant. He blinked, grasping at the wisps of the feeling that had cracked and crested upon him. A wave, like a spell being lifted, broke across the length of the universe. Something the Force had had broken, just a tiny hold, and he _felt_ it. Or, more accurately, he felt _her_. He snarled.

No. No, no, no, no, _no_. This was impossible. Padme Amidala was _dead_. He had made damned sure of it. When he had begun to groom Anakin to be his apprentice, he had looked into the future, following all possible threads. Any in which Padme lived, Palpatine's hard-earned Empire _fell_. So, when Dark Vader burned on the shores of Mustafar, Palpatine took advantage of the misfortune. He had reached across the Force, employing the technique—or as much of it as he had learned—from his old master and drained the senator of her lifeforce. He redirected it, pouring it into the then-dying Vader. Padme had died so that Palpatine could have his apprentice. But now… now it seemed that she had somehow clawed her way back into the land of the living. This was unacceptable.

He punched a comm button on his throne and barked orders at the secretary on the other end. He would need an assassin, someone unassuming and fairly trustworthy. Because Padme Amidala had to die… for a second time.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen:**

If Padme had expected things to be smooth sailing from there on out, she had been sorely mistaken. After a few minutes in which Vader—or, rather, her Ani—held her hands, whispering her name as if it were a holy thing, he abruptly stopped. He released her hands, leaving them floating, unsure of whether to reach for him or not. Without a word, he exited the room and did not return. Padme was left blinking, confused, staring after him. After a few minutes, a pair of droids came in—the same medidroids from her last mishap—and rolled about to all the monitors in the room. Satisfied, it seemed, they approached her and removed the IV. They helped her to her feet and escorted her from the room. There was a small hall outside the door that she didn't recognize, with several doors lining it. The droids led her up it to the very end, and when they emerged through the door they found there, she saw that it was guarded by two crimson Imperial Guards. She blinked.

She had been in Vader's private quarters? The door hissed closed behind them as the droids continued to lead her forward—presumably to her own quarters. She glanced back at the guards, and the door, thinking of what lay beyond. Where had her husband gone? Why had he had such an abrupt change in behavior?

Padme was left with only questions for three standard days. On the first day, when she had explored what she could of Dark Monolith in search of the fearsome Sith Lord, she ended up having to ask after him. The kitchen droid informed her that Lord Vader was secluded in his private quarters, meditating, and that he was not to be disturbed. For the first time, she followed this advice.

She spent the better part of the next day the victim of extreme paranoia. She had all but convinced herself that his absence could mean one thing, and one thing only. He thought she was crazy. She kept looking out the thin windows of her room, just waiting for the ships to arrive that would carry her back to the hospital on Coruscant.

But on the third day, when this didn't happen—and she still had seen neither hide nor hair of her husband—Padme had had enough. She marched out of the confines of her room right up to the guards outside of his personal quarters. They turned, ever so slightly, to acknowledge her without speaking. She crossed her arms across her midsection, making sure to stand as tall and straight as she could.

"I need to speak with Lord Vader," she stated.

"We're ordered not to disturb him," one guard answered in a tone of finality.

"Too bad. I demand to speak with him. Now."

"We're under orders. Please return to your quarters."

"No. I'm not leaving until I see him."

They each took a menacing step forward, but Padme held her ground—no matter how unstable it suddenly felt. But, just before another action could be taken, the door to Vader's private quarters opened and a small droid rolled out. He looked up at the two guards, then at Padme.

"Lord Vader says that he will see her," it said.

Padme grinned triumphantly, sliding past both the droid and the guards. As soon as she was back in the hallway beyond, the door shut behind her. She jumped a little at the sound. She shook it off, gazing down the wall. It wound back, she noticed, and seemed to rise, beginning at the curve. She took a tentative step, listening for anything that might indicate her husband's whereabouts. In the distance, right before the start of the incline, a door on the left-hand side slid open. Through it, she could hear the faint sounds of Vader's respirator. She walked quickly down the hall, entering the room without much preamble.

It was sparsely decorated. A single sofa sat along the wall farthest from the door, and in the left corner of the room was a circular, raised platform. It was upon this that Vader was seated, his legs crossed. His masked face was downturned, and he didn't look up when she entered. She moved across the room, taking a stiff seat on the sofa. She never took her eyes off him, even though he had yet to look at her.

"Why did you leave like that? Why have you been so absent?"

The sound of his respirator filled the room. Still, he did not look at her. Padme pursed her lips and asked what she feared.

"Do you… Do you not believe that it's me?" she whispered.

He sighed. "I believe it. I know for a fact that it is you. I can _feel_ it now. It is like… a lock has been opened, and I can now clearly see the room beyond."

Padme blew out a breath, not realizing that she had been holding it. She folded her hands in her lap, now more painfully aware than ever that they were not truly _her_ hands.

"Then why? Why did you leave?"

Finally, he turned to stare at her. Even though the mask, Padme could see the sadness in him. His hands rested on either knee, and he saw his grip tighten, ever so slightly.

"I don't deserve this," he said, speaking as softly as his vocoder would allow.

Padme's brow furrowed, but she didn't speak. In a moment, he continued.

"I don't deserve this… this whatever it is. This gift of your return. I don't deserve _you_. I… I killed you."

Padme stared at him, taken aback. She shook her head. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her, fully in the face. "You don't remember?"

She frowned, shrugging. "I remember bits and pieces. Flashes of things. I remember…"

She stopped. He seemed so sad, so haunted. She didn't want to bring up that she remembered him choking her, remembered trying to tell him that she loved him. It seemed an awful lot like kicking someone when they were down.

"I know you remember," he said. "At least, I know you remember when I… when I choked you."

She sighed. So much for that plan. She nodded.

"But you don't remember what happened after that? After you collapsed?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just flashes, as I said. I had a dream, but… it was just a moment."

"I was… angry. I thought you had brought Obi-Wan here to kill me, that you had betrayed me… for _him_. He tried to check on you, but I told him to get away. You were mine. We fought. I lost. I burned on the shore that my quarters overlook. I remember… I saw your ship leave. When I awoke, fully to consciousness, again, I was in this suit."

"And that's why you think you killed me?" Padme asked.

"I must have… I must have damaged you more than I thought, in my anger. I have hated myself every day since."

Her heart threatened to shatter. She stood, crossed the room, and took a seat at the base of the circular platform. She shook her head.

"Ani… you're crazy," she laughed.

She could sense his shock, even if she couldn't see it on his face.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't kill me, Ani. I… I don't know what exactly did. I remember feeling… feeling like I was fighting… like a core part of my being was being pulled away. But my throat? It didn't even hurt at the time."

"But… But Palpatine _told_ me that I had killed you."

Padme laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, because he's proved himself the most trustworthy person in the galaxy. No, Ani. I don't know what ended my life. But it wasn't you."

It happened in tiny fractions, but Vader seemed to relax. He even loosed the smallest of chuckles at her words. Then, it was gone. He was intent on her again, yet he was once more not looking at her directly.

"Padme… what you told me, about the pregnancy… My angel… what happened to our child?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty:**

Padme sucked in a breath. A loaded question if ever there was one. Flashes from her allergy-induced fever dreams played through her mind. She could hear the infant's cries, strong and clear. She brought herself back to the present, staring at her suit-bound husband. Other memories surfaced then, too. That night on Mustafar. What Obi-Wan had told her of the assault on the Jedi Temple. This could be a trap.

Or it could be the key to dragging him back into the light. She gave him a watery smile, her lips parting. She pulled the words from her mind, that she knew the child was alive, but she simply didn't know where. And choked. The words didn't even try to form. It was an all too familiar feeling by now. She suppressed the growl that crawled up instead, shaking her head ever so slightly. She shrugged.

"I don't know."

A lie, of sorts. And a truth, of sorts. Why in the nine hells was the Force preventing her from speaking now? It made no sense. He _knew_ her now. He knew it was Padme. Didn't he have a right to know about his child? Didn't she? A ragged noise escaping the man before her drew her attention back to the moment. She reached out a hand, resting it upon his own—a prosthetic, but that was no surprise to her. After all, he already had one prosthetic when they had married.

"I'm so sorry, Padme," he moaned. "So, so sorry. I never meant… _Never_ —"

"Ssh," Padme shushed, scooting closer. She took his hand in both of hers. "It'll work out. It has to, now that we're together again."

A faint, steady beeping sounded from a panel in the wall—hidden by Vader's hulking form. He turned toward it.

"It's the Emperor. He's demanding I make contact," he stated.

Padme understood. She stood up, briefly stretching her legs. Vader reached up, taking her hand.

"Will you visit me tonight?" he asked.

She smiled. "Of course. I'll leave you to it. I'll return in time for the evening meal. I love you."

"And I, you, my angel. Forever," he murmured.

She gave his hand a squeeze, feeling the rigid metal underneath the glove even more. Then, she turned and left the sitting room. She exited Vader's wing without so much as a look from the Imperial Guards, and she didn't stop moving until she was back in her quarters, door shut.

"I'm sick of silence. I know you're listening, Qui-Gon. It's time to talk."

Honestly, she had expected to be ignored, as she had in recent times. Instead, the shimmering form of the deceased Jedi appeared almost instantly. He had his hands folded inside the billowing sleeves of his cloak, his face an ever-pensive mask. She placed her hands on her hips, locking eyes with the apparition.

"I must not know the rules after all," she snipped.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Vader was never meant to know your true identity."

Padme made a sound that was a mix of disgust and disbelief. "A wonderful plan that was. So I was supposed to bring him back to the light, but as Triana? What was the Force expecting me to do, seduce my husband as another woman? Ani is too loyal. It would have never worked, and truth be told, I'm more than a little glad for it."

"Don't misunderstand me, Padme. I agree with you, completely. I believe this is the better path. I am simply telling you what I believe to be the original intention."

"So, what? Is that why I can't talk about our child? I didn't reveal it in the fever dream state I was in, so I can't reveal it now? It doesn't make sense. If he can acknowledge me, then he should be given a chance to acknowledge his child."

Qui-Gon sighed, moving to sit upon the edge of the bed. "There are many things that aren't totally understood about the Force, even by Master Yoda or me. The Force, as we know it, is a living organism given to us so that we may access the powers of the Universe. It, in itself, is not omnipotent, seeing only pathways into the future. But the beings that created this organism, they nearly are. If I had to make a guess… I would say that, somehow, with you being in the unusual state you are in coupled with the unusual allergy and delirium you were under, you were able to temporarily able to leave even their sight. You saw what they didn't want you to see, but it now cannot be undone without damaging the larger mission. But you are well. You are back under their sight, and the mission is back under their control—as much of it as they have, given free will. The rule has been changed. He has guessed your identity. But he has not even begun to guess the state of your offspring. I would surmise that that is why you are not allowed to acknowledge what you know in front of him."

Padme's jaw clenched as she fought against grinding her teeth. She dug her fingers into her hips, her eyes glaring into the ghost's own. She had meant what she had said. She was sick of silence.

"Is my child alive?"

Another sigh. But he returned her gaze, unfaltering. "Do you truly believe, Padme, that your offspring would be safe around Vader, as he is now? He is still answering to Palpatine. Would it be safe?"

Padme blinked at him, momentarily shocked. She started to say yes, without a doubt. But then, she stopped. She paused, all on her own, no Force interference. So, not without a doubt. She thought again about what Obi-Wan had told her about the temple, about the younglings.

"I don't know."

Her secure comm, from its place in the stand's drawer, began to beep. Qui-Gon nodded.

"Then, I believe you do, in fact, understand."

With that, he was gone. Padme growled a little. It was a non-answer, but he wasn't entirely wrong. Put that way, she did understand. She crossed the small space, opened the drawer, and answered. Mothma's small form appeared in her palm, her face colored by distress.

"We have a problem, Triana. Potentially, a big one."


	21. Chapter 21

**Part III**

" _Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win_." -Stephen King

 **Chapter Twenty-One:**

"I'm going to assume, from a lack of reports, that the assassin failed," Mothma said, her tiny form radiating worry.

Padme took the seat that the ghost of Qui-Gon had once occupied. She nodded.

"Vader killed him. And, as it turned out, saved my life in the process. Your assassin seemed hell-bent on killing Vader and whoever got in his way."

Mon Mothma sighed, shaking her head. "I feared that, but we were left with little option. My apologies, Triana. I hope you went unharmed."

"He shot me, and had I not attempted to stop the shot, it would have killed me."

Padme set her lips in a grim line, and suddenly, a chair appeared in the hologram as Mothma sank into it. The senator rested her head in her hands, sighing once more.

"You were right, of course. We must fight the Empire, but we mustn't sacrifice what we believe in… we should have never tried such a desperate tactic, not when we had warning against it. The New Republic shouldn't be built by such actions. Please, I beg your forgiveness."

Padme nodded. "It's all right. Now, what was the problem? Is someone asking after the assassin?"

"No, no. We made sure there were no loose ends. No, this concerns reports I've received from inside the Emperor's offices. Palpatine is pushing to remove the last remnants of the so-called traitor Jedi from the Empire. Or so he says. His next target will be Jedha City."

Padme used her free hand to press her fingers tightly to her lips. She recognized the name. It was a holy city, of sorts. Anakin had told her about it. There was a great temple built there, and when they were ready, Jedi were sent there to construct their own lightsabers. Anakin had told her that the main reason for this being that there were mines located underneath the temple that were rich in the main component needed for a lightsaber—kyber crystals. Padme shook her head. This was no simple erasure of the past. Palpatine had something else up his sleeves.

"It has to be the crystals," Mothma said, and Padme agreed.

"But what could the Emperor want with them?" she asked.

"Honestly, I am unsure. But whatever it is, it can't be good. If you can believe it, that isn't the worst news or the biggest problem at the moment."

Padme arched a brow. "What else?"

"The citizens of Jedha City have caught wind of a possible Imperial regiment being placed in the temple. You see, in that city, they never believed the Jedi were traitors. They believe that Emperor Palpatine was the deceiver. There's no love for the Empire there."

Padme had to fight down a smirk. How right these people were. After a moment, Mothma continued.

"These people… it's never been a rich city. They want the Empire gone, though. They are planning an uprising. While I approve of their idea in concept, the execution would be disastrous for them. The Imperial Army would out-man and out-arm them one hundred to one. And that's at my best guess. If they rise… the Empire will kill them all."

"And then Palpatine would have unimpeded access to the mines," Padme murmured.

"Just one of many reasons why this must not happen. Triana, I know that most of your assignment is dictated for you, but I need someone I can trust. Someone who has proven themselves loyal to the welfare of the people. Undoubtedly, the Emperor will send his right-hand man to set up the regiment. Could you… I don't know, worm your way into joining Vader somehow? Perhaps you could stop the uprising from the inside."

Oh, how little did she know… This would have been nearly impossible only a handful of days ago, and Padme had to marvel at her luck. She nodded, confident.

"Yes. Yes, I can. I will."

Mothma returned her nod. "Triana, the lives of thousands are in your hands. I wish you all the luck in the universe. May the Force be with you."

With that, the transmission ended. Padme let out the breath she was holding. She put the comm back in her drawer, but otherwise didn't move from her seat. Instead, she closed her eyes, thinking over it all.

What did the Emperor need with a whole mine of kyber crystals? Anakin had told her enough of the Sith to know that there were only ever two: a master, and an apprentice. So Palpatine didn't need an army's worth of kyber crystals. Then there was the other issue. She needed to go with Vader on this mission, but… could she tell him why? If she was honest with the man that was her husband, would he aid her? Would he stop the potential deaths? She thought upon her prior conversation with Qui-Gon and got a rumbling in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

After a time—she wasn't sure how much—a chime sounded indicating a visitor. She granted them entry, seeing it as a droid.

"Lord Vader asks for your presence in his private wing, my lady," he said.

Padme smiled a small smile. She stood, nodding. "Thank you. Lead the way."

She wasn't sure if he would help. But she would be damned if she was just going let thousands of innocents die. She was going to go on this mission, and nothing was going to stop her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two:**

Once the droid had led her past the initial barrier of Imperial Guards into Vader's private quarters, Padme was led to a room that was a little farther up the spiral hall. The droid entered, announcing her presence, and led her to a seat at the end of a short, rectangular table. Vader stood at the other end, only sitting once Padme had done so. This table, like its longer counterpart in the dining room in lower Dark Monolith, had been laden with foods. Only, this time, it was all of Padme's favorites. She smiled up at him, touched that he had remembered all of it.

The rest of the room was fairly unextraordinary, done all in the plain, black stone as the rest of the castle. A few plants hung from wall planters, and there were a couple of the thin, slit windows that viewed out upon the lava rivers below. Otherwise, that was it. Padme did notice that there was a door behind her husband, and it seemed a little different from the others in the castle… almost like it more tightly sealed.

The droids bustled around the table, filling Padme's plate with food and her cup with cool, crystal clear water. As soon as they were finished, they stood off to the left side of the table, and Vader seemed to be eyeing their work. Satisfied, he rumbled, "Leave us."

They obeyed without hesitation. Padme remained still, her silverware untouched on either side of her plate. Looking down the table, she noticed that Vader once more had no food in front of him. She pursed her lips, trying not to look as worried about that as she felt. Once the final droid had left, and the door slid shut, he turned his masked face toward her.

"So that we may speak freely," he said by way of explanation.

She smiled, deeply appreciative of the thought. After all, any one of those droids could be programmed to report directly to the Emperor, just as that one had been programmed to lead her out of the castle. She did not need people knowing that she was calling herself Padme—well, at least, that's how most of the people who had known her in her older life would see it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded once. "Eat, please. I hope you find everything to your liking."

"It looks wonderful," she said, taking his advice.

There was silence for a moment as Padme took a few bites. She, again, noticed that he wasn't eating. He had made no motion for any of the food left in the center of the table. And with his respirator being the only noise coming from him, she was beginning to feel a touch uncomfortable.

"You've been Triana… since you awoke? From the coma?" he asked, finally.

Padme almost sighed with relief. She bit it back, however.

"I woke up as myself in Triana's body. Of course, no one would believe it was really me. I also… I couldn't say my own name. I don't know why."

She was so tired of half-truths. But she had an inkling that if she had tried to explain in greater detail, such as "the Force prevented me from saying my own name to people," that exactly that same prevention would have been enacted. So, another "I don't know" went in its place. Vader leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the table.

"So, you were living this other girl's life?" he asked.

Padme felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of Briari. That poor woman, believing she had her sister back. Padme set down her fork.

"Padme?" Vader asked. "Have I… upset you?"

She shook her head. "No, no. It's just… Triana… Triana is gone. She's not in here with me or anything. But when I was released, posing as I had to as Triana, I was given into the custody of her only living relative. A sister, named Briari Sarbarn. Briari is kind. She worries over Triana. I guess it's just always felt like… like a necessary evil to pretend to be her amnesiac sister. I've hated it, though. Briari deserves peace, not lies. I think everybody deserves that, at least."

"I'm sorry."

Padme shook her head, trying to shake off the cloud of guilt as she did so. She looked back at her husband, pointedly staring at his empty plate.

"I haven't seen you eat. Not once, the entire time I've been here. Is it… I mean… why not?"

A soft chuckle escaped the vocoder. "Yes, I suppose you are remembering when I devoured the meal you made for me. It was wonderful. Best food I had had in my entire life. But haven't you heard? Darth Vader doesn't eat or sleep."

Padme put another bite in her mouth. "That's impossible."

"Not quite."

He motioned for her to keep eating, to ignore the fact that he wasn't. She ate a couple more bites in quick succession before setting her fork down once more.

"Every living being eats and sleeps, Ani."

"Don't," he growled.

Padme froze. It would be a lie to say she wasn't afraid from the sudden change in composure. But he lifted his hand, shaking it in the air, as if waving something away.

"I don't go by _that_ name any longer. I don't deserve it. Especially, not from you."

"It's your true name. It's my _husband's_ name."

"The husband that killed you…"

"I told you, you didn't…"

"I had a hand in it, then. If I hadn't weakened you, then perhaps…"

Padme pressed both her hands down on the table. "Enough. Okay? Please. Let's go back to our other conversation, okay? Why aren't you eating? And what was that bit about not sleeping? Is it… because of your injuries?"

Even over the respirator, Vader seemed to suck in a breath. "I eat, Padme. I know how you worry. But… liquid diets are easier for me. It's… flavorless, but nourishing. I take it in my hyperbaric chambers, mostly. And it is in fact possible for some to go without sleep. Those, like myself, who are strong in the Force."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why don't you sleep?"

The question came out almost as a whisper. He heard it, though, clearly as he responded.

"I am plagued by nightmares—memories of what I did. To you. I see myself, using the Force to wrap around your throat. I remember the anger I felt when I thought you had betrayed me for _him_. When I thought you had chosen _him_ over me. I see the moment the Emperor told me of your death. I remember the grief, that black abyss I thought I might never find the bottom of again. I see all that enough when I am awake. I have no need of seeing it, out of my control, as I sleep. So I call upon the Force to replenish my strength… at least, what it can, given my injuries."

Padme felt her lips wobble and her eyes well up with tears. He shook his head.

"Please, not for me. Again, my angel, I don't deserve it."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, willing her tears to stop before they start. But, her heart broke for him. Yes, one could argue that he did, in fact, deserve it all—the pain, the inconvenience, the loneliness that both these things must bring. And one could be right about all that. But he was her husband, her wonderful Ani, who saw her as more than just a fierce politician… as more than a savior of a planet. He had seen her as a person, a beautiful woman he had wanted to spend his life with.

"I missed you," she finally spoke, the words wobbling out. "I missed you so much, in those first months. I wondered after you. I hoped that you were okay. When I learned…" the words stopped. Another divine block. She tried again. "When I figured it all out, I was so baffled. But, oh Force, how I _missed_ you."

She felt one rogue tear slid down her cheek. Vader stood and crossed the distance between them. He knelt, the leather of his suit creaking as he did. He took her face in his hand, and she pressed a kiss to the fingertips of his gloves.

"My darling angel," he rasped.

"I want to see you," she whispered. "I want to look into your eyes. Is it… is that possible?"

He seemed to consider this. Finally, he said, "Yes. It takes some… patience, but yes. Padme, my injuries are… extensive. Are you sure you want to see the monster I've become?"

Padme laid a hand on either one of his shoulders. "You will never be a monster to me. Please. Please, let me see you."

He nodded, standing. He took her by the hand and led her to the door at the back of the room. He entered a code into the keypad on the right, and the door opened silently. He led her inside. She blinked once she was in, surprised.

It was done mostly in white. There was a dais quite a bit larger than the one in the other room she had been in, and it was cushioned. There were monitors and screens, but only a handful. A few medical supplies sat in the corner, and when Padme turned her eyes skyward, she saw a host of mechanical arms retracted to hang.

"This is an oxygen-rich hyperbaric chamber," Vader said as the door slid shut. Padme could hear a sound that followed that sounded an awful lot like a seal being put into place. "It will be oppressive for you to breathe in here, and I wouldn't recommend spending more than a few hours in here for you. But this is the only place I can be without my suit."

He released her hands and stepped onto the dais, standing in the center. She moved to follow, but he motioned for her stop.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He nodded. Using the Force, he flicked a switch on the far side of the room. Suddenly, the arms on the ceiling sprung to life, extending downward. Padme watched in wide-eyed awe as her husband's damaged body was revealed, one piece of armor at a time. It took several minutes until he finally stood, nude, before her. Only his chest plate—which was hardwired directly into his chest—and a handful of clear tubing remained on his person. Padme took him in, her eyes roving over his body.

Both arms and legs were prosthetics, and the flesh where they connected was healed around the metal. It looked to her that it must be incredibly painful for him to make any kind of movement. He was covered in scars on what remained of his legs, arms, torso, and face. They were pink, clearly healed as much as they were going to, and some parts of his body were sewed around the chest plate and tubes so that they might have an entry point. He was hairless, of course, and his male organ was scarred—but otherwise intact. She must have lingered on it, as he said, "I was on my stomach when I burned. The medidroids said that that helped."

Her eyes flew to his face. His voice! It sounded as if every word was agony, like he was still breathing smoke and flames. His vocal cords were all but shot. She blinked, finally meeting his eyes. She breathed out a sigh.

They were blue. Not that hellish yellow of her final memory of him, but the beautiful blue she had loved so much. They were very bright in this moment, and Padme realized that he was tearing up. She closed the distance between the two of them, taking his face in her hands. He flinched from touch, and her heart stopped for that moment.

"Oh, my Ani," she whispered.

He began to protest the usage of his name, she was sure, but she put an end to that. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. He sighed against her, and she felt one of his hands come to rest in the small of her back. She moved to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "I know what I look like."

"I know that I don't _have_ to. I want to… I wasn't lying to you. I've missed you. _All_ of you."

He moaned and pressed his mouth to hers. Oh, it was all just as she remembered. He kissed her deeply, working her slowly to the cushioned floor. She worked her way out of her dress, and he kissed a trail up and down her torso. She ran her hands over every available spot, careful of the wiring and tubes. He moved lower, until his mouth found a spot to focus on, causing her to arch and moan for him. She tumbled over the edge in no time, but just as she was about to sit up and return the favor, he stopped her. He mounted her, sliding inside.

She mewled, digging her fingernails into his shoulder as he pumped inside of her. Before long, she felt him stiffen, his thrust becoming erratic. His hot seed spilled inside of her, and he came to rest, wheezing, beside of her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's… a bit more… of a workout now. In my present… condition."

"It was wonderful. You know, I would've…"

She let the sentence hang, but pointedly stared downward. He laughed.

"I am aware. But I couldn't wait. I wanted to see your eyes again when I finished inside of you. Though… I must admit… I was a touch thrown by the green."

She blinked, about to ask him what he was talking about, when she stopped. Laughing, she shook her head.

"I completely forgot. I was so in the moment, I forgot that this wasn't my body. Oh, wow…"

He laughed with her, and she nuzzled into his side. They laid there for what seemed like an eternity, his breathing just as regulated as before. The sound simply wasn't as amplified without the rest of the suit.

"I have to leave in the morning," he said finally.

She turned to face him, propped up on an elbow. "Why?"

"I have a mission."

Padme kept her face neutral. She knew what this mission had to be, given her conversation with Mothma. But she feigned ignorance.

"Where are you going?"

"Jedha City. I'm… setting up an Imperial base there. The Emperor sees that I might be required there."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

Vader sat up. "I can't discuss it, Padme. I'm sorry."

She sat up with him. "That's fine. I understand. It's just… we've just shared this… I don't want to be separate from you again so soon. I might be asking a lot but… could I come with you?"

She felt horrible, playing her husband like this. But it wasn't entirely a lie either. She had not set out to sleep with him, but now that she had, she was reminded of all the wonderful times they had spent together. And for the first time, she felt as if there might be more in their future now. Then again, she had also given her promise to Mon Mothma. She had to save these people. Vader arched a brow at her.

"The Emperor actually ordered you with me, _Miss Sarbarn_."

"An article worthy mission?"

Vader hummed at that but said nothing. Slowly, he rose. She stood as well, redressing as the arms from the ceiling helped him back into his suit. Padme had a feeling that Vader knew something more about this mission that made him question Palpatine's insistence to bring her along. But it didn't matter to her. To her, all that was important now was saving those people's lives—and maybe even her husband's in the process.

Once they were both dressed, they exited the hyperbaric room, which immediately felt wonderful to Padme. She spent the rest of the night speaking with Vader, until he finally insisted that she sleep. She went, yawning and without protest, a little extra bounce in her step.

Tomorrow, the real work began.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three:**

The trip to Jedha City took a touch longer than any other trip Padme had yet taken in this new life. They were on Vader's Imperial shuttle for almost an entire day before touching down on the planet. At least, now that Vader knew who she truly was, she was more than welcome in the cockpit. The time flew by, as they relished the opportunity to do nothing more than speak to one another. But, the moment they touched down on the landing pad located at the top of the dome-topped temple, the Vader she had come to recognize as her Ani vanished, and the Sith Lord returned.

With some alterations, of course. Before, when Padme had been only Triana Sarbarn to him, he had been a touch more open about letting her around certain Imperial operations. Now, she was his wife, and he was actively trying to keep her from becoming involved. Padme thought this spoke volumes about the operation here, that he thought she wouldn't approve. However, to the rest of the galaxy, she was still Triana, Sector Liaison, and in need of information for her article. She managed to see several canisters of what appeared to be some kind of white powder being loaded off of one of the other Imperial shuttles that had arrived after them—as well as rucksacks of the stuff. She got Vader away from the rest of the regiment to ask after the substance.

"We are mining some of the crystals. It's for them. Kyber crystals are quick to, ah, corrupt. Packing them in this powder will keep them pure," he explained.

"And where are they going?" she asked.

He turned away from her, as if he hadn't heard the question. She huffed, making sure it was clearly audible. After a few more attempts to get closer to the workings of this mission—and being restricted in doing so by her husband—Padme had had enough. She had work to do on this planet anyway. She tucked away her HoloReader and informed Vader that she was going for a walk.

"Do not go far, Miss Sarbarn. You would be no good to the Empire captured by a slaver," he said, in full Vader authority.

But Padme read between the lines. She allowed the corners of her mouth to quirk upwards in the ghost of a smile. "I'll be careful," she said quietly.

Vader gave a small nod, and with that, she exited through the front, stone doors of the temple.

The temple—which was an enormous structure that contained many rooms both below, above, and at ground level—was separated by the greater Jedha City by a large courtyard. The flowers that lined the wall were well kept, and Padme wondered, briefly, who ran this temple to make sure that this was so. Or, perhaps, the citizens of the city simply took it upon themselves to make sure this chore was always done. She crossed the cobblestone courtyard until she reached the front—again, stone—gates, left ajar by coming and going Imperial troops.

It was a shock to the system, once she was free of the temple grounds. She had gone from relative quiet and peace—save for a bumbling officer or two—immediately into the hustle and bustle of a city. Calls from the merchants of a nearby market sounded clearly over to her, while people of all ages and species milled past her. She pulled the hood of her simple, rough hewn dress up over her head and eased her way into the foot traffic. She had no idea where she was going, or where she _should_ be going to accomplish her primary goal on this planet. Instead, she wandered, keeping both eyes and ears open to anything of interest. The temple remained in her constant view, no matter how far she worked away from it, making it an easy mark to return to once she was finished.

She eventually stumbled across a group of young men grumbling about the Empire. She stopped, standing nearby to eavesdrop on their conversation. It was exactly as Mon Mothma had said. They spoke of Palpatine smearing the good name of the Jedi, and that "something" should be done about these damn Imperials. Padme careful interjected herself into the group, who eyed her as if she had fallen straight from the sky.

"They are too well armed for an all-out assault," she said, motioning to the fact that several of the men in the group appeared to be marginally armed. "Standard blasters won't do anything but get your peoples' lives killed."

One of the men spat at her feet. "Imperial sympathizer."

"No, I'm not—" she protested, but the group had already moved away from her. Sighing, she put herself back into the flow of the people.

She made a circuit through the market, hearing more clearly the advertising calls of the merchants for their products. Most were for food or some sort of wearable. However, a group of young men and women paused by one booth that was selling weaponry. Something that, Padme was sure, was illegal even by Imperial standards.

"Yes, finest bowcaster credits can buy," the merchant announced. Padme noticed that although his voice projected outwards toward the crowd, his eyes watched the hungry-looking youths.

Padme planted herself firmly in front of the merchant. She wagged an accusing finger at the man.

"You are selling death," she proclaimed. "You are trying to get these people killed."

He put up his hands defensively. "My dear lady, no. I'm simply selling protection. Against foreign invaders."

Padme could see the young men and woman nodding along with that. She ground her teeth in frustration. Quickly as she could, she flashed her identifier, letting the man know that she was an Imperial Sector Liaison. Immediately, all color from his face drained.

"Do you have a permit to be selling these blasters, hmm? And what else are you selling back there? This isn't the Outer Rim. The laws are more closely followed here."

In a flash, he gathered up an armful of random items from his table and ran. Padme watched, half- surprised, half-amused, as the man tripped and stumbled farther away in his run. She turned back to the youths, who looked less than pleased.

"There goes any hope we had left," one young woman quipped.

They pushed off of the building they had been leaning upon and left. Padme crossed her arms. This was proving impossible. People were going to die because they would rather not listen to someone they believed to be an agent of the Empire rather than someone trying to help.

"Don't mind them. Emotions are running high today," called a too-cheerful voice from somewhere behind the merchant's stand.

Padme moved around toward its back, to see a young man seated on a decorative lip midway up a pillar. He was dressed in simple, dark blue robes with a long wooden walking stick out and upon the ground. He leaned on it, his face turned perfectly toward Padme's. He was human, male, and had eyes canted up at the outside. They were also completely whited—he was blind.

"People are going to die. I'm trying to stop it. I'm running out of time," Padme lamented.

"Time is short and fleeting. But, even such, many great things can be accomplished."

Great, a blind man who spoke in vague riddles. This was exactly what Padme needed right now. She huffed.

"So many people are going to make the worst decision."

"Probably," the monk said, leaping deftly to the ground. He approached her, laying a hand upon one of her shoulders. "But have faith. You are One with the Force, and the Force is with you."

With that, he turned, as if having no sight was nothing more than a minor inconvenience and walked away. Baffled, Padme did the only thing she could think of to do: she went back to the temple. Upon arriving, she found both of the stone doors open, and the flow of Imperials greater in number. She climbed the steps and entered, quickly catching sight of Vader on the far side of the building. She made her approach, slowing only when snatches of the conversation he was having with the young Imperial he was with wafted over to her.

"…to get it up and running, we'll have to take it all. We'll have to completely wipe the mine, Lord Vader," the officer was saying.

Vader nodded. "The Emperor will have his technological terror, make no mistake of it. Clear the mine, if need be. After all, the Jedi have no more need of it."

"Sir," the Imperial saluted, walking away just as Padme stalked up to him.

"You're taking them all?" she demanded. "Why in the name of the Force would need all of this mine's kyber crystals? And what technological terror? What is Palpatine planning?"

Vader raised a hand, and Padme was pleased that she didn't flinch. "It is of no concern of yours."

"The hell it isn't. I remember. I remember everything you ever told me about being a Jedi, about building your lightsaber, about these crystals. They are powerful. If you take the amount I even think is in these mines… I can't even fathom the damage a weapon of that power could do."

"I meant what I said," Vader snapped. "Why should I care, since the Jedi are no more? No one else has any use for these things."

"You're wrong. The people here, they still believe. They believe in the holiness of this place."

"Then they are wrong."

Padme clenched her fists at her sides. "They are going to revolt!"

As if on cue, a loud roar sounded from beyond the doors of the temple. Padme whirled and could see a mass of people heading through the courtyard toward the temple, whatever weaponry they could gather in hand. She turned back to her husband.

"Correction, angel," he said. "The people _are_ revolting."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four:**

The troopers acted immediately, shoving the strong doors of the temple shut and securing them. There was a torrent of noise that followed almost immediately after, and Padme wasn't honestly sure if it was the sound of projectiles hitting the door, bodies slamming into them, or both. She stood, frozen, watching as officers and troopers scrambled. The ebony figure that was her husband swept past her, the hem of his cape sweeping over her feet as he began to bark orders to the officers.

"We make ready to make our strength known," he ordered.

The doors were secure, and a round of, "Yes, Lord Vader!" followed this. And, immediately following that, began the gathering of weapons. Padme shook her head. These people… they were merchants, workmen, innocents. Not warriors. Odds were that they were armed with nothing much more than kitchen implements and rocks. She strode forward until she was shoulder to shoulder with Vader. She pressed a hand to his arm, and he turned his masked face down to her.

"You'll kill them, all of them, if you go out with your weaponry," she argued.

"They'll do the same, if given half a chance."

She shook her head. "There's got to be a different way. A _peaceful_ way."

"There isn't," he said, brushing roughing past her.

She ground her teeth behind her lips, glaring after him. This was Vader speaking, though he definitely had Anakin's stubbornness. She took several steps back as the Imperials were preparing their ranks to deal with the unruly public. She stood by her words. There had to be a peaceable answer. Desperate, she threw her eyes about the rounded room.

There wasn't much to look at. The décor was simplistic, as was the Jedi way. The room was rounded underneath a large dome. On the far-right wall was a plain stone staircase that led up to the spires of the temple, while in the dead center of the room was a spiral staircase that descended beneath the earth. She stared between the two staircases, thinking hard. Then, it hit her. If she simply scared these people, odds were that they would run away. They weren't hardened soldiers, and emotions were obviously running high. Right near the top step of the spiral staircase was a small layer of the white powder that Anakin had said was for the crystals. Without another thought, she jogged the short distance to the staircase and followed them down.

The stormtroopers had done very little by way of organization down here—perhaps due to the growing rebellion that had spontaneously occurred. Most of the barrels and rucksacks of the powder were simple sitting off to the side. Padme lost no time. She grabbed up a rucksack in each hand—each weighing about twenty-five pounds apiece—and charged back up the staircase. She grunted a little under the effort, as it had been a while since she had had to do any kind of heavy lifting. Apparently, the same held true for Triana, as she was using her body after all.

She hit the top of the staircase just in time for Vader to whirl and see her do so. She didn't stop, making her way directly over to the stone staircase to the right. This time, she was tailed up the stairs by the Sith Lord himself.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, following closely. "Why do you have that? You shouldn't have left my sight!"

"I left to find a more reasonable solution, a better one," she snapped back at him, ever climbing.

Sweat was beginning to pour from her temples, and her hands were aching from holding on so tightly to the sacks. But she kept going, knowing that either at the top of this tower—or very near to the top—she would find exactly what she was looking for.

"Padme," he rasped—using her name now that they were out of earshot of the rest of the officers. "Padme, stop. Where are you going?"

"I need a balcony," she called over her shoulder.

"What? That's dangerous! You've no idea what kind of projectiles they could be throwing. It's not safe to be that exposed."

Padme was growing increasingly annoyed with her husband yammering after her like she was a child. She forced that emotion into her energy, trying to climb the stairs as fast as she possibly could. Her legs and thighs burned with the exertion, which, in a vicious cycle, fed more into her annoyance.

"Then why don't you just use the Force to stop me?" she snapped.

Up ahead, very nearly at the top of the staircase, she saw it. Light, natural light leaking through onto the steps. A balcony. She knew she had spotted one when they had been landing. She bounded up the last few steps, coming to a stop only when she was on the flat, tiled surface of a curved balcony that overlooked the courtyard, as well as the city on the whole. She caught her breath, but as she moved to step toward the edge of the balcony, she was caught by her arm.

She looked back to see Vader gripping her, his respirator working on overtime due to the rush.

"I won't use it in case you are wrong!" he roared. "In case I did, in fact, kill you! I can't lose you again, Padme. I won't."

A strange sort of feeling settled over her then. A kind of sadness, as well as some kind of resolution. She stared up at her husband, all annoyance gone.

"Please. Trust me."

It took what seemed like a small eternity, but finally, he released his hold on her. She whirled, ripping open the top flap of the rucksacks. She then lifted them and upturned them, spilling their contents onto the crowd, one after another.

A small breeze kicked up, carrying a haze of white powder to the rioters down below. It took a few moments, due to their frenzy, but finally, they noticed the abnormality. Glancing up, they must have saw her and Darth Vader standing on the balcony. A scream rang out, followed by several more. People were dusting ferociously at themselves, hurriedly retreating out of the courtyard. After another moment, a radio sounded somewhere on Vader's person.

"It's… It's all clear, Lord Vader," the confused officer said.

"Understood," Vader rumbled.

Padme stood by the railing, huffing and puffing. She felt rather proud of herself, thinking up the ploy of taking something harmless to fool a crowd. One look at her husband, however, let her know that he seemed less than pleased with her performance. _That_ she could tell, even with the mask.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"You could have been killed," Vader said with deadly calm.

Padme could feel it. The anger and rage seemed to roll off him like waves in an ocean. She stepped back against the wall, just on the threshold of the balcony, pressing her hand against the stone. A flash of that horrible last moment on Mustafar rolled through her mind. But she planted her feet, grimacing at her husband.

"It got them out. And I'm fine. Everything went as planned."

"Padme, you cannot do _this_. Rush, headlong and reckless into situations," he growled.

"It's what you used to do. What you still do."

"I am more _powerful_ than you!" he shouted, stomping forward a step.

She jumped, visibly recoiling. She instantly regretted the motion as she felt the shift in his emotions. She could feel the shock at her reaction, followed by more rage, before, finally, he seemed to reign it in.

"Padme. Are you… afraid of me?"

"No. Not as you were. But this, now? This Darth Vader who would slaughter innocent citizens trying to defend their beliefs against an insurmountable enemy? I… I don't know."

She looked back toward the inside of the temple, unwilling to feel his veiled stare upon her. He took another step toward her and gently gripped her arms. She glanced up at him.

"Please. Don't be afraid. I would never hurt—"

Neither spoke, letting the truth hang. He gave her arms a squeeze, one meant to be reassuring.

"Not. Again. _Never_ again," he vowed.

"Ani," she murmured, reaching up toward his face.

A roar of angry voices from the courtyard beneath them brought her hand to a pause. Immediately afterward, a small beep announcing an open radio line sounded from Vader's helmet.

"Lord Vader, people have returned. It seems they are even angrier, and have acquired a handful of new weapons," an officer's voice said.

Both Vader and Padme moved to the edge of the balcony. One glance below confirmed it. The courtyard was full of people—some with white powder in their hair and on their clothes—and they seemed even more riled up than before. Padme sighed, shaking her head.

Vader glanced over at her.

"We do things my way now," he stated. He hit a button on his belt, and the radio beeped again. "Officer, seal the courtyard and prepare the stormtroopers. I am going to eliminate this problem once and for all."

A quick "yes, sir" was the response, and Vader whirled and began to stalk down the stairs back to the main atrium of the temple. Padme followed closely.

"You can't! You're going to kill them! Please, please don't do this!" she begged. "There has to be another way."

"These people had their chance," he growled as they touched down in on the main floor.

Vader stalked right up to the waiting line of stormtroopers, who parted their assembled ranks to let the Sith Lord through before reforming. Vader signaled an officer to open the temple's secured doors, and Padme felt her stomach fill with stone. When Vader, followed by the line of white-and-black armored troopers marched out, Padme followed quickly behind. It was briefly surprising to her how none of the officers stopped her, or even attempted to. Perhaps they thought she needed this to bolster Vader's reputation in her upcoming article—like she was going to put a good spin on senseless death.

The doors to the temple slammed shut behind her, and the roaring of the gathered crowd was deafening to the point where it almost physically threatened to shove her back up against the doors. She fought it down, moving to the side of the assembled line, her eyes darting back and forth from the crowd to Vader. She recognized several obscenities in several different languages being shouted, as well as some Basic shouting of "leave this place!" A volley of rocks suddenly flew through the air from several different origin points, but they all appeared to have the same target: Vader.

He lifted his hand, almost casually, and the rocks simply fell straight down upon the steps. They never even came close to touching him. The crowd roared again, and Padme saw, in the distance, the gate at the entrance of the courtyard slam shut. Vader ignited his crimson lightsaber, and only then did a moment of silence fell.

It was followed immediately by horrified screaming.

"Don't do this!" Padme screeched, her voice drowned out by the sheer vocal terror around her. "Please!"

Vader descended the few steps to the bottom and swept through a group of citizens there with his saber as easily as though he might be trimming a hedge. Padme pressed her fingers to her lips, her stomaching rolling. The entirety of the protestors realized their mistake too late as they all turned to flee. The stormtroopers followed after the Sith Lord, firing into the crowd. Padme fought to keep her food down as she watched innocent after innocent fall. Desperate, she went down the first step, casting her gaze about the courtyard. There was a massive group clogged up against the sealed gates, banging fist or weapon or implement against it in their attempt to escape the grim specter of death. There had to be another way out of this courtyard. The Jedi were never ones to have only one choice as a course of action. The Jedi were planners. Padme tried her best to ignore the screams of the people as she searched for a way to free them.

Finally, she saw it. In the upper, right-hand wall of the courtyard—tucked away in the corner—was a door. It was plain, appeared to be made of simple wood—completely old-fashioned. The gates had been sealed from the inside of the temple. There was a chance that this old door wasn't on a powered system at all. Lifting her skirt, she fought her way into the crowd, aiming toward that corner.

In a way, moving through the crowd was easy, as everyone was trying to move to the back, to get away from Vader—who was still busy mowing down citizens. However, it took some elbowing to break through the last barrier of people. A little bubble of emptiness was left right in front of the door, and she stumbled out from the mass of people right into it. She ran to the door and hoped that it was open. She pushed. It gave a little, but it was stubborn, probably from disuse. She backed up as much as she could without running bodily into another person and ran with all her might into the door. It flew open, and Padme almost fell to the floor on the other side. It was dark, with no electric light on the inside, and it appeared to be some sort of storage closet. It took a couple of minutes before her eyes adjusted to the dim mix of sunlight and shadow. But when it did, she was almost overwhelmed with relief. Another wooden door, on the left interior of the room, stood. She rushed to it, yanking it open with all she had in her. It swung wide, and Padme beamed to see that it led right into the city. She lost no more time.

She ran back into the crowded courtyard and physically grabbed the first person she reached. It was a young man, maybe only in his twenties, and he almost took a swing at her. Instead, she whirled him about, pointing at the open door.

"Go!" she ordered.

He sobbed a "thank you" at her and was gone. Padme began to spread the word, ordering those she told to pass this alternate exit along before they used it. Before long, there was a steady stream of people breaking away from the crowd at the gates. She waved them all through, pushing some who let panic overtake them. One middle-aged man managed to get caught in the doorway with a young woman, and Padme shoved herself into their backs to move them through. They stumbled into the storage room beyond, and the line continued to move.

Suddenly, a hand—cool and ungloved—seized her by the wrist. She was whirled about, face-to-face with a masked man she had never seen before. A faint pricking sensation was felt on the crook of the elbow of the seized arm.

"Compliments of the Emperor, _Senator_ ," he said.

Then he released her and was through the wooden door. There was a moment, the briefest one, where sheer panic washed over her. The Emperor knew. He _knew_. He would use this against Anakin, she was sure. She had to—

Suddenly, it felt as if her entire system of blood vessels constricted. She gasped, falling to her knees. She searched her arm, her eyes blurring. It was there, faint, but there was most certainly a little mark on the crook of her elbow. The sight of a needle's injection. "Compliments of the Emperor." She understood completely.

"Anakin," she screeched at the top of her lungs. She didn't care who heard her use her husband's real name. Not so long as he heard her. "Anakin! Anakin, please!"

She gasped again, feeling as though one half of her body was being closed off to the other half. Her sight blurred again, almost to the point of blackness, and she fell forward to catch herself with her hands.

A strong hand grabbed her, and she recognized the feel of the leather. There was a series of thuds as it sounded as though bodies were hitting the walls, and then she was being lifted and moved. When her sight cleared again, briefly, she saw that she was laying in the storage room, and Vader was kneeling over her.

She had done this. When she had broken the rules, however she had done so, she had brought this upon herself. She had cut her time short. A lifetime wasn't meant for her and Anakin. She understood this now as the poison Palpatine's assassin injected her with coursed through her veins.

"No," Vader breathed. "I can't lose you again. Padme, please. Hang on. Not again!"

Her veins felt constricted once more, and it took longer this time for them to seemingly relax. She reached a hand upward and rested it on Vader's mask, on the approximation of where his lips would be.

"Not again," Vader said, and it sounded as though he was sobbing. "Who did this, Padme? _Who did this_?"

"Too late. I love you, Anakin," she whispered as her body began to be wracked by pain. "I love you. Please, never doubt that. I love you, and don't give up hope. There is always hope."

"Padme," he roared, but it sounded distant.

Her body seized up and pain ran the length of it. Her vision blurred once more, and this time, it didn't return.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Padme opened her eyes. She had to blink, because it was just so bright. Once her vision adjusted, she became aware of several things at once. Firstly, she was standing. She was so sure she had been lying down the last she remembered. Next, she was in a room that was all white. It had no real discernable walls or floors, it was all just _white_. Finally, she was herself again—in the body she had originally been born and had died in the first time. She smiled a little sadly to herself.

She wondered how many souls could lay claim to the fact that they had died twice.

A soft rustle of movement alerted her to the fact that she was suddenly not alone. She turned, finding Qui-Gon standing there. He looked as pensive as ever, though maybe a little sorrowful around the eyes.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Hello, Padme," he returned. "The Force recognizes the great sacrifices you have made—in both of your lives. They wish you to offer you a final gift, before you pass on into the peace you so dearly deserve."

He gestured to the "wall" right in front of her. She took a single step forward, stopping when suddenly a set of images filled the space. She, in this, her original body, was shown in a medical facility, crying out in pain as a medidroid and Obi-Wan Kenobi stood over her. In a moment, a crying infant was taken from underneath the modesty cover over her bottom half.

"It's a boy," Obi-Wan said.

"Luke," her image-self whispered. "Oh, Luke."

She was in pain again, and then, another infant.

"It's a girl," the Jedi informed her.

"Leia."

Padme, in the present, blinked. The image changed, and she was on a planet she had only visited a handful of times. She recognized it though, because of the dark-haired man who was holding a baby. Bail Organa playfully bounced the infant he held, smiling down at her.

"Princess Leia, are you excited for your announcement?" he cooed at her.

The image switched again, and now she looked upon the figure of Beru—Lars, last Anakin had told her—sitting in a chair with a wrapped baby in her arms. She rocked the baby slowly.

"You will be so loved by your uncle and me, Luke. Oh, so loved…"

With that, the images were gone, replaced by that blinding whiteness. Tears wetted Padme's eyes, but she smiled through them. Her children… _children_. They were safe. They were loved. She turned to Qui-Gon.

"Thank you."

He nodded once. "The road ahead of the twins will be a hard one, but you were right when you told Vader that there would always be hope. Even if… even if you were wrong about Vader himself."

Padme waited for that feeling of heartbreak she had felt so often during her time as Triana. But, instead, only a soft warmth filled her. She had access to all her old memories now. She had the knowledge she had been missing as the other woman. She grinned at Qui-Gon.

"I don't think I was."

#

The roar Vader unleashed swept out of the storage room and across the courtyard. It knocked Imperial and citizen alike off their feet, and—judging by the metallic crashing—blew the gate off the courtyard. Behind his mask, he could feel tears rolling down his scarred cheeks. It hurt to cry, his tear ducts still not fully healed from his original injuries. He relished this pain and used it fuel him.

Poison. He saw the injection mark on her arm. Someone had murdered his beloved wife. Someone had taken his angel from him _again_. He scooped up her body and exited the room. The courtyard was almost emptied out by the time he emerged, leaving only Imperials and dead citizens littering the area. An officer approached him, stopping short when he saw the dead woman in the Sith Lord's arms.

"Caught in the crossfire, my lord?" he asked.

"Poison," Vader growled. "I want an investigation launched. I want any and all security footage looked over. Check every home. Burn them to the ground, if you have to, but I want _answers_."

There was the briefest moment of hesitation on the officer's part. Vader supposed that it was probably due to the fact that the men all saw him as holding Triana Sarbarn's body, not Padme Amidala's. But the officer came back to himself, saluted, and was gone.

He left Jedha soon after that, knowing that the setting up of the mining operation would meet no resistance now. He took Padme to Mustafar, to the very spot where he had burned, and he buried her there. His tower room overlooked this very spot, serving to remind him of the failure he had sustained here. Now, it would serve to remind him of all that that Jedi had taken from him. Padme had died blaming herself, blaming the fact that she had broken the Force's rules. But Vader knew the truth… had known the truth all along. The Jedi had placed those restrictions upon her, as they had him when they called him The Chosen One, and when she no longer followed them, they took her life.

He set up a fund that evening, after Padme's second burial, for Briari Sarbarn. Padme would have wanted that of him, knowing her heart. She would have wanted to offer the sister to Padme's unknowing host to have some measure of peace. Then, Vader set to work. He contacted the Emperor and informed him of the development.

"Oh," Palpatine's holographic image said. "A shame. She was truly an asset to the Empire. She will be missed. Are you quite sure it was assassination, Lord Vader?"

"Yes, my master. And only the Jedi could have perpetrated it."

"Ah. And your intentions, Lord Vader?"

"As they always were. I will kill them all."

Palpatine let out a long cackle. "Good. Good."

The transmission ended, and the kneeling Vader rose. Padme had died telling him of hope. He, indeed, had hope. Hope for the destruction of all the Jedi who had escaped Order Sixty-Six.

They, however, would find themselves lacking.

 _fin_

* * *

 **End Notes:** Thanks so much for staying with me this far. I hope everyone enjoyed this fic. I've received all of your lovely reviews and have been grateful for everyone one. Unfortunately, life-and the fact that I am once again doing NaNoWriMo this year-prevents me from replying to every single one. Just know that I read and love every one of them. Thank you so much!


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